Crash
by BelleDean
Summary: A financial collapse, a hurdle, a breakdown and a collision – though not necessarily in that order. E & B
1. Chapter 1

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

**The prologue is set in 2008. The next chapter will be E reminiscing about his past - starting in the summer of 2007. **

**Once & for all – I don't own Twilight. Claro que no! **

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_**Prologue**_

September 15, 2008

I used to be King.

Repackaging, rebranding and reselling it – I was the master of it. I was the fucking king of trading _the shit_.

And I knew it was shit. Three times repackaged with a triple-A rating, but underneath it all – worthless waste. Nothing real, nothing valuable.

Everybody with half a brain knew it. From government officials to financial reporters, who now all pretend that they didn't see the crash coming, that nobody could have predicted it – the tragic dip the Dow took ... the sub-prime mortgage mess – but it's bullshit – they all knew.

After all, what goes up must come down, and every bubble bursts sooner or later. It's an ancient rule or some shit. Even my dad, who didn't graduate high school and picks up garbage for a living, knows that.

But at the end of the day, sincerity is a low-priced commodity in the twenty-first century and humility an undervalued currency. Certainly nobody offered to pay me for telling the truth.

So we played along, downing bottles of Cristal, buying overvalued apartments, driving luxury cars useless in the crowded streets of Manhattan, laughing at the poor slobs who were working in some pathetic nine to five gig making a pittance, while we gambled with millions, billions, trillions, hauling in more cash than we could spend in the process.

It was a hoax. Nothing more.

But fuck it; I'd be a liar if I didn't admit I had fun while it lasted.

Now that I'm standing here – in the middle of Times Square – with a generic brown box full of useless items and my jacket under my arm, I know, with dead certainty, that I can start from scratch again. I came from nothing and I've started with less, so this – this massive crash – as the pundits now call it, would be nothing but a diversion, an unexpected detour, for me.

If it weren't for that one last sale that I have to make I'd be okay. But without that sale, you see, picking up the pieces and starting over would be pointless. I might as well join the homeless guy at the corner and beg for scraps to get by instead.

I have to sell _her_ that the penthouse, the BMW 750 Li, the reservation of the mansion in the Hamptons for the reception, and even the Harry Winston five-carat princess cut diamond ring are all superfluous because no matter what happens we have each other. We have love.

It is a fair trade? Even if it isn't, can I sell it to her? Can I seal the most important deal of my life?

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**Thank you for reading. And September 15, 2008 – is an important date in the annals of finance. Google it, if you want to. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you!**

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**1.**

_I have vivid memories of that day – the day when my fate was sealed._

_**Summer 2007**_

"Fuck!" Cool air was hitting my face as I sat in the back of the black town car on my way to work, yet sweat was dripping down my temples, down my spine, dampening my dress shirt. "Try driving around this mess! Cut across First. I need to be in the office in five," I ordered.

"I don't know what it is, sir. I checked. The UN isn't in assembly." Muhammad, my driver, turned around and gave me an apologetically half smile. I could see it wasn't his fault. Nothing was moving that morning. Everything was standing still while cops put up barricades.

"Never mind. I'll call you when I need you."

I jumped out of the car and walked, passing greasy food carts on side streets heading west, and nannies tugging kids in uniforms to school down Park. An Upper East Side blonde strutted past me in a skirt pulled as tightly around her perfectly toned ass as the skin covering her face.

It was only June and the air was already muggy – a taste of what was to come; but despite sluggish heat, energy was abuzz. The day would turn out to be a good one in more ways than one. I'd felt it when I took my morning leak – it was in my piss.

I always wished – especially on days like that one – that they'd just moved the office back downtown. At least traffic on the FDR was less of a clusterfuck. The midtown office building was an omen of sorts, telling me that I worked for spineless suckers.

_I should have gotten the fuck out when I had a chance…_

Checking the trading indices on my BlackBerry, I picked up my pace as they climbed. The sky was the limit.

First up on my itinerary was always a trip to the trading floor to get my daily dose of adrenalin; I fed off the frenzy. Numbers flickering on the computer screens spiked my alertness better than any drug. Everything was working in my favor.

Next stop, the private office above; I never really needed it. To be honest, I'd have preferred to stay in the thick of it all, to have kept my desk on the trading floor. The office was too far removed from what was happening, but it came with a promotion I would have been a fool to turn down.

On my way, I saw brown instead of blonde behind the reception desk and didn't receive the customary "Good morning, Mr. Cullen" greeting.

I didn't dwell on it. Never mind. I was too busy. I never cared for formality or false politeness.

I brokered some deals, saw a nice pattern developing in the numbers, and before I had time to look up from the screens on my desk, my stomach was growling.

My secretary signaled just in time that I had an incoming call, Emmett McCarty.

_Emmett's from the old country, as I like to call it, even though it's just a ferry ride away_.

I decided to take the call. I never cut my ties.

"Yo, bro. How's it hangin'?" he bellowed in his vociferous voice.

_Vociferous … sounds pretentious when its owner is everything but. Bella would use a word like that. Emmett is plain and simply loud. Everything about him is loud, his voice, his personality, his clothes, his wife, his car. Everything._

"Nicely. What can I do you for?"

"For starters you can hook me up with the new chick with the mellow voice that answered the phone."

"You're losing it. I've had the same secretary for six months now. I'm sure you've heard her before."

"Na-uh, bro. I'm telling ya, she's new. And no, I'm not talking about the secretary with the nice jugs."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I'd like to take the opportunity to point out _again_ that you're a married man, and I'm attached to my balls, thank you very much. So even if I had the faintest clue of who you were talking about, it wouldn't be in my interest to introduce you."

_Rose, his wife, is a fierce woman with a bit of a violent streak. Emmett once got a nice black eye courtesy of her fist after she discovered the tab he racked up at Scores during one drunken night. He gets his credit card statements now sent to his fake business address._

No way was I aiding him in his philandering ways. I was never that stupid. Not even before I saw the girl.

"I'm in the area, delivering. Meet me in ten for lunch?"

_Produce delivery, I told him, was a fruitless venture. The jury is still out on my judgment. _

"Sure."

I headed to the elevator bank. Vicky, a girl I'd had a quickie with in the supply closet one night when I'd stayed late watching the markets bounce up and down in Shanghai, stepped into the elevator with me. She wasn't half-bad looking. And she liked it fast and hard, and that was all I had time for. No need for dinners accompanied by bland conversation, followed by overtures of flirting when you could get laid by investing less. At least that used to be my philosophy.

"What's going on?"

"A lot."

"Too bad."

A questioning glance was all I mustered in response.

"I thought maybe you'd meet me … I could pencil you in, if you like." The tone of her voice was flat, but the way she moved her tongue around her mouth too obviously gave her away, revealed what it really was: an offer.

"Okay … well, maybe I'll see you." I wasn't lying. At that exact moment in my life, I might have still been interested in buying.

I stepped out of the elevator, passed the security desk and saw Emmett in an Ed Hardy shirt and ugly jeans standing at the corner of the building.

He thought he was being one slick, stylish motherfucker wearing ridiculous outfits like that, and I saw no need to school him on his clothing choices.

We sat down in a deli and he talked about his business. His phone rang the entire time, restaurant owners complaining about their deliveries. He appeased them with a casual "no problem," and "I'll fix it. I'll bring you some prime stuff next time."

I was in the process of biting down on my Reuben, when he caught sight of a cop inspecting his truck and ran out to argue with the guy. I settled the tab and got the food to go.

When I caught up with him, the cop handed him a parking ticket.

"Come on man, why didn't you stay there? I don't wanna eat in the truck," he said, raising his hands in the air when I tried to hand him his half-eaten sandwich and the soda in a plastic cup. Emmett had always been anal about the cleanliness of his vehicles. You could've eaten off the seats of his 1990 Toyota Corolla when we were in high school.

"I guess I thought it might be a smart idea to move your truck," I pointed out, though I knew arguing was futile.

"What would be the point of that, can you explain that to me? I got a ticket already! Let's eat in your office.

You can introduce me to the broad with the smokin' voice. If she looks as good as she sounds…" He was wiggling his eyebrows in a comical fashion and I shook my head in response. The guy was on a perpetual chase for pussy.

_Still is, actually._

"Again – I have no idea what you're talking about, but fine, let's go."

I flipped through my e-mails in the elevator. I was about to type out a response to a request coming from an important client when the ring of the elevator alerted me that we'd arrived. I typed and walked, until I came to a halt with force.

It was a full frontal collision, in the process of which I managed to drop my food, the BlackBerry, and the Coke – in that order – on the floor.

"Fuck!" The cup of Coke and ice landed squarely on the BlackBerry. "This is the third one in a month," I yelled more aggressively than possibly called for.

"Excuse me?" a soft, deep voice questioned. I saw a pair of women's shoes across from me.

"What?" My eyes darted up. I wanted to swallow my tongue the minute the word was out. In front of me stood a slender girl with perfect proportions, long brown waves of shiny hair, doe eyes and perfect pink pouty lips.

_I know you think I'm trying to pull a fast one on you, that I'm trying to sell you one of my securities as a sure investment, when I tell you that I knew right then and there that she was it for me. The one person I would forever worship. There'd be no one else from that day on and nobody would ever be able to take her place. She was The One. _

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**Thank you for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Nowforruing gracefully agreed to beta this. Thank you.**

**I don't own Twilight.**

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**2.**

_2007_

_I knew I was in trouble when she looked up at me, scowling._

"Maybe that came out wrong." I flashed my most winning smile, but didn't get the desired reaction.

"Indeed." She nodded curtly, gave me a once over and stepped around me.

"An apology might be in order, don't you think?" I said, looking for a quick introduction – so sure of myself.

The click clack of her heels came to an abrupt stop. I turned around and stared at her while loosening my soiled tie.

She walked three steps back in my direction, allowing me to let my gaze linger. I'd become an expert at discerning the value of things over the course of my career. So I noticed how her perfect tits were draped by a silken beige blouse, how her tight little shape was fitted into a fashionable yet conservative black pencil skirt, and how her long legs were accentuated by a nice set of steep heels. The girl in front of me embodied class with ease – Bergdorf Goodman style and Park Avenue penthouse money rolled up into one.

"I am, without a doubt, sorry you did not watch where you were going, but then again men like you never do. No," she said coolly, shaking her head, "they walk right over anybody in their way."

"Interesting theory. Though I think in this case you're wrong. And beside – you walked _into_ me."

And then she did what no woman had ever done before – she raised her eyebrows once, a condescending sneer forming on her lips, before turning and walking away without another word, effectively ignoring me as if I was made of thin air.

"That's the voice." I had forgotten that I'd had an audience for my one-on-one with the girl until I heard Emmett say those words followed by an obscene clacking sound.

"She answered my line?"

"I only ever call the 1-800 number to this place," he answered, shrugging his shoulders.

When we walked past the reception desk to my office, I was greeted by the customary "Good afternoon, Mr. Cullen," but the world wasn't righted by it.

I got rid of Emmett the minute he finished stuffing his face with the sandwich and called one of my buddies from the trading floor who always was in the know if an attractive female joined the club.

"Jasper fucking-king-of-short-sales Whitlock at your command, Cullen. How's the cushy leather seat treating your ass? Getting soft yet?"

"Shut up. What derivative crap are you pushing these days, Whitlock?"

"Oh, you know the usual – mortgage backed stuff. What else is there?"

"Right, right. Actually not calling to talk shop but was wondering whether you happened to have the 411 on a brunette, near a ten on the rating scale, slightly snotty and uptight?" An image of her blouse closed up to the last button flashed across my mind.

"Near a ten on the rating scale? Are you certain? I'd imagine a hot little bunny like that wouldn't have escaped my attention, but your description off-hand doesn't ring a bell."

"Definitely high marks. Neatly accessorized with classy clothing and a smooth voice."

"Okay, since I trust your judgment, I think I should be able to dig something up."

"Sure. Later." I hung up the phone in annoyance and summoned my secretary via the intercom.

"Yes, Mr. Cullen?" I heard her chirp as she entered.

"Jess, I need a new BlackBerry … actually get two while you're at it. And take the suit I wore this morning to the dry cleaner."

"Would that be all, sir?"

"Yes … actually, no. You wouldn't happen to know where our 800 number gets picked up?" I asked without looking up from one of the monitors on my desk.

"Which one?"

"What do you mean which one?" I asked, watching the Dow rise to a new high.

"Well, as I'm sure you are aware, there are several 800 numbers, depending on which department you are trying to reach."

I wasn't _aware_. Not that it mattered.

"If someone would try to reach this department, for example, via a toll-free number, where would the call go first?"

"Oh, for the big clients the number goes directly to the front desk on this floor. Lauren, the receptionist, usually connects them."

"I see." Jess turned out to be as useless as Whitlock and I dismissed her with a wave of my hand.

My interest wasn't in Lauren, and even Emmett's mom used to suggest there was something wrong with his hearing, so I knew I might have been following a cold trail.

After some after-hours trading, I left the office still early enough to glance at the reception desk on my way out and it confirmed my suspicion: the brunette wasn't sitting there. Brassy blond was in clear view. Whatever job the girl I collided with held at this firm, I highly doubted she was anybody's secretary or receptionist.

My first step was clear: find out what her name was and where she worked – piece of cake, I was certain. Once I'd figured that out, the next step would be the tricky one. I needed to charm her, make her fall for me. The ultimate goal of the mission – and this _again _I knew with certainty even then – was to make her mine.

I'd never attempted to lure, woo, entice – whatever you wanna call it – a woman before.

_You know, the ritual where a guy actually has to work to get the girl?_ _Yeah, that ritual was something completely foreign to me._

Attracting the attention of the female of the species had never been my weak point. I usually got what I wanted without much effort even when I didn't have a pot to piss in or a window to throw it out off. When I started making money hand over fist, I only had to snap my fingers to get prime meat. Yet my gut instinct told me that she might present a challenge.

And maybe that was part of her appeal, at least initially. Maybe that was why I immediately knew I wanted her. There was something so aloof in her response to me that irked me and beckoned me at the same time.

I wasn't too concerned though. I still had some aces up my sleeve, I thought, and since I'd never failed at anything before, I was full of foolish confidence. It simply didn't occur to me that winning over the girl would be the hardest thing I'd ever tried.

The next morning, after a quick check on the markets in Europe from home, I drove to the office at five AM to get an early start. I was greeted by a "Good Morning, Mr. Cullen," as I walked to my office, and for the first time in a long time I bothered to look at the receptionist's face; it was as average as her voice, I decided after a quick glance, cementing my suspicion that Emmett was hard of hearing.

My goal was to get as a good overview of the early trading and then walk into the company cafeteria around nine AM, when most of the employees who didn't work on the trading floor arrived and stopped by for a cup of coffee. If my instincts were correct, and they had never failed me before, she wasn't a trader. In fact, she didn't fit any of the neatly established drawers I'd sorted the people who worked at this place into.

Something about her, possibly her self-righteous attitude, told me she didn't care for money – a rare sentiment among the firm's employees. Despite the fact that all the little junior analysts told you with earnest expressions on their faces that they were drawn to the field of investment banking after they got hooked on microeconomics in college, they were there for one reason and one reason only: to get rich. My guess, considering her dress and style, was that she was someone who was born rich and therefore saw no need to amass further. Of course that didn't solve the puzzle of what position she held, and more importantly, why she was working for the firm to begin with.

As I walked into the cafeteria, I wasn't disappointed. Indeed, she was there, lining up behind a cash register to pay for a cup of coffee, wearing a blue wrap dress, and a different set of pretty heels with her hair in a bun.

I grabbed an apple quickly and moved to stand behind her.

"Good morning," I said, leaning over her shoulder before biting into the apple with a loud crunch.

She didn't respond or move.

"Bad day? Little bit early for that," I continued unperturbed.

"Why no, actually until two seconds ago the day had been quite pleasant," she said in an icy tone while handing the cashier her card to swipe.

I laughed.

"Wow, I'm hurt. I had no idea that a simple greeting could turn your day sour." The girl rolled her eyes at me and walked away, though I swore that just for a nanosecond I detected the hint of a smile on her face.

I swiped my card and followed her right into a cramped elevator. She stood behind me, and I couldn't resist turning around and grinning at her. When my floor came up, I didn't get off and instead stayed. Another two floors later, the place had cleared out and I moved to stand next to her.

"So, how long have you been working here?"

"Today is my second day. Not that it's any of your business."

"So is it only me or the place?"

"To be frank – both." She stepped forward to get out of the elevator. When I didn't make any attempts to follow her, she looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. "This is the last stop. You're not getting off?"

I shook my head, smirked and took another bite from my apple.

"Well…" She looked confused for the first time.

The elevator doors closed and she was still staring.

I sprinted out the doors on my floor. The chase was on. I knew the floor she worked on. Finding out her name from there on wouldn't be too difficult.

"Sir, I have Mr. Whitlock on line one for you," Jess announced as I walked into my office.

"Tell him, I'll call him back." Pulling up the internal directory with accompanying photos to figure out who exactly was working on that fortieth floor would be a quicker way to find out what I wanted to know. The details were just a finger click away. Beside, I didn't want to shoot shit with Whitlock.

"He asked me to tell you that he has the scoop … the 411 you're looking for," Jess said with some trepidation in her voice. She knew I didn't like to be interrupted once I told her I wouldn't take the call.

"It's alright, Jess," I answered, and heard her exhale in relief. "Put him through."

"Give me what you got, Whitlock." I leaned back in the chair with my headset on, swung around and stared down at the busy street, people crawling along like ants.

"Okay, your perfect ten is indeed a ten," he said, followed by a low whistle. I was annoyed

"I know that already. Cut to the chase."

"Testy, Cullen." He snickered. "No worries. I'm not up for a pissing contest over this one. She's all yours as far as I'm concerned, not that I'm suggesting you go there. So here's the story: her name is Isabella Marie Swan. She started working as an intern for one of the bigwigs up in private equity yesterday. Word is she's his niece and got the job despite no econ or math background. Oh, and her daddy is none other than hedge fund guru Charles Swan. That's all I know. Make a circle I say."

"I see."

I wasn't intimidated by who her father was, nor did her uncle's position, most likely as an SVP, scare me away.

Call me arrogant, but if you made it as far as I had on your own, the guy who'd inherited a halfway viable investment firm and just had to build it up, was not that impressive. I'd outranked and out-earned most of my fellow graduates, born with a silver-fucking-spoon in their mouths and a sense of entitlement so strong that they thought working on the trading floor was beneath them, after just a year with the firm. I went from highest earning trader to analyst to senior associate within four years straight while finishing up my MBA at night.

The information only spurned me on. Money wouldn't impress her, so I'd just have to work a little harder …

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**Thank you for reading.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Nowforruin betas this. I owe her. Thank you!**

**I don't own Twilight. **

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**3.**

2007**  
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I didn't have to wait long for a formal introduction after that.

The Saturday after our run-ins, I was scheduled to attend a gulf outing in Long Island sponsored by the firm. I cared little for the sport and even less for corporate outings where schmoozing was mandatory. In fact, I was going to skip the event altogether to avoid the long ride out there until one of my clients offered a seat in his helicopter.

Walking into the clubhouse for brunch after a shaky flight, I didn't bother to survey the scene – unnecessary, at that point in my career – and, hence, I nearly missed her. Most of the seniors had already noticed my talent for predicting the rise of certain stocks and sought me out on a regular basis, if only to figure out my scheme. I didn't have one. And, like at other events, the lazy slobs above me didn't disappoint at this one either.

"Mr. Cullen, please come and join us," a well-maintained guy in his fifties, whom I remembered from one of the countless, pointless meetings I was forced to attend, offered as I searched for an empty table. I was about to excuse myself when I saw Isabella Marie Swan sitting right next to him, looking every bit the part of an indulgent, bored debutant, dressed in a cute little skirt and polo shirt with her hair up in a ponytail.

"Sure."

"Excellent. This is my niece, Isabella," he introduced her, standing up, "Edward Cullen. He's one of our senior associates. Isabella just graduated from Vassar and is spending the summer as an intern with my department."

A fake smile appeared on her lips.

"I think we've met before. Pleasure," I said with a genuine smile, sitting down next to her.

"Tell us, Edward, what are your predictions for your division's quarterly earnings?" her uncle asked the minute I grabbed the napkin of my plate. I hadn't joined the table to play oracle and prophesize on the firm's financial health and gave my standard noncommittal answer.

"So far so good," I answered and dug into my omelet. I could tell her uncle wasn't pleased, but frankly – I didn't give a shit. I was known for being a tight-lipped gambler and liked to keep it that way. All I was interested in was figuring out the girl with a firm grip on her cocktail glass sitting next to me.

"So tell me, Isabella, what do interns for the private equity group exactly do?" I started off, innocently enough.

She finished what looked like a Bloody Mary with a loud slurp from her straw, pushed the glass next to another empty one standing on the table, and motioned for the waiter to bring her another drink before turning to me with a blank expression on her face. "Well, other than wearing uncomfortable clothes, I push paper around and sharpen pencils. Sounds fascinating, don't you think?"

"You get paid, right?" She nodded, blushing, looking slightly embarrassed. I was tempted to tell her that she should count herself lucky that she got paid for basically doing _nothing_ while other people had to spend their summers working, for example, as unpaid interns, sorting scrap metal at a junkyards on weekends, and working the graveyard shift at diners to make ends meet, but didn't. "Sounds cushy, if you ask me." I smirked, which seemed to irritate her. "I don't know about fascinating, though, if you hate it that much, why not look for something more … I don't know … demanding?"

She rolled her eyes. "If I had any say in this, I wouldn't be interning with your company."

"My company?" I cocked an eyebrow at her and got another eye-roll. "Well, I imagine nobody is forcing you to get out of bed in the morning, so why not skip the place?" I added, before biting into a piece of bacon. Talking oneself out of obligations had never struck me as a particularly intricate task, and she _had _struck me as everything but dim. I didn't understand _yet_ why she'd led herself be forced into an internship she didn't want to do.

I glanced at her naturally pink lips wrapped around a stick of celery, noticing that not only did she sound like a spoiled brat that morning, but also looked much younger without the office attire and make-up to create a cloud of competency. Light freckles splattered the ridge of her nose. Her lashes were long and dark, like that of a doll, and no lines or pores marred her face. I didn't know how I had missed her so visible youth before.

"Right. Stay in bed and do nothing. Good idea. Dad would be so pleased." She chuckled and started on her recently delivered fresh drink.

"Tell him to shove it?" I suggested.

She stared at me for a second, a mixture of awe and surprise in her eyes, before she broke out laughing.

When her uncle shot her a questioning look, she stopped abruptly.

"I don't think it's a good idea to drink quite as much before you have to go out on the course, Isabella," he said disapprovingly. To my amusement, she obediently deposited the still full glass on the table and pushed it away.

"So which team are you going to be on?"

"No idea and I don't intent to play."

"Could have fooled me," I said, glancing down at her golf attire.

"Obviously, I'm here because my parents assured my uncle that I would participate in all the _fun_ summer activities sponsored by the company. You know … just to make sure I get the full experience." She shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. "If you want my personal opinion, golf courses are an environmental hazard, so naturally if it had been up to me, I wouldn't be here today." She finished with a sardonic smile playing around her lips.

"I see. Environmental hazard. Mmmh." The girl was tipsy, but not yet drunk and all so very entertaining.

"Come on, let's ditch the place," I whispered and then pulled her up by her arm.

"Mr. Black?" I looked at her uncle who'd stopped paying attention to his niece and was now deeply involved in a conversation about foreign currency trading.

"Please, call me Billy!" he answered with a bright smile on his face, unexpectedly seeming pleased that I'd taken an interest in his niece.

"Billy." I nodded. "I'm going to take Isabella out to the carts and show her where to look up her team."

"That sounds like a great idea," I heard him say as I started steering her by her elbow away from the table.

"You're aware that I can't leave the place, right? He's going to look for me when this idiotic tournament is over," she hissed, following me.

"No worries, princess. I'll have you back in no time." I grabbed two bottles of champagne from a serving station and pointed out the door. She hesitated for a second, shooting me a defiant glance. "Unless you'd rather go golfing with your uncle, of course?"

She pursed her lips for a second, but then walked ahead of me. When we reached the row of carts, I handed the manager a tip to make sure he'd take us off the list of players and took one of the carts.

"Get in." I stopped aside from where she was standing looking around nervously before sliding into the seat next to me.

"Where're we going?"

"Relax. You're safe with me."

"Riiiggghhht ... safe with you."

"Stop acting like a spoiled brat, or I'll turn around and drop you off with your uncle."

"Shut up! I'm not spoiled." Her cheeks flushed. "I'm not ... I just … stop grinning, all proud of yourself that you've figured me out. That's not who I am."

"There's a lake on the outskirts. It's far enough away from the main course. We can hang out until the geezers finish their tournament." Truthfully speaking, I was still deluded enough at that point to think that once drunk she'd throw herself at me; I'd be lying if that wasn't exactly what I'd had in mind for the afternoon.

"So why are you here?" she asked, inspecting me from the side.

"Well, I work for the company, so my presence is kind of obligatory. Actually, according to some people, I _own_ the company."

"I never said you owned it, but you most certainly embody all their ideals. You work a lot, treat people like they're objects unless they come with an ample supply of cash to invest, and seem to care little about anybody or anything else. Oddly enough though, you were kind of rude to my uncle and don't want to spent time with him and his friends, even though I imagine hobnobbing with them could possibly further your career."

"That's quite the analysis you got going there," I replied nonchalantly, though her words rubbed me the wrong way. "I only work for myself. If my division makes money – great, I take credit for it. I don't care what your uncle thinks of me, and I didn't get to the position I'm in by sucking up." I didn't know why I felt the need to explain that to her.

"I didn't say you did," she said with a shrug of her shoulders. I pulled the cart into a spot behind some trees and jumped out.

The small lake looked like it had during prior excursions, peaceful with birds chirping and some waterfowl swimming lazily around. Jasper, some of the other guys and me used to go there in the early years, when we hadn't really figured out yet how to play golf, before we'd all taken classes at Chelsea Piers. I hadn't been to that spot at the lake in at least two years. I sat down on the grass near the water, popped open the bottle and handed it to her. Reluctantly she sat down next to me, took the bottle from my hands and pulled it to her lips.

"You didn't answer my question." She wiped the champagne from her mouth and handed me back the bottle.

"What question?"

"Why are you here?"

"Because you're here."

"You didn't know I'd be here …" She furrowed her eyebrows. "Or did you?"

"No. Not really. But I'm glad I came because you're here, and isn't that the same?" I lay back on the grass with my hands behind my head, enjoying the view. Her cheeks turned pinker and she bit her bottom lip before looking away.

"I do have a boyfriend, you know?" Her words came out in a rush.

"Is that so?" I said with a smile on my face despite the fact that I suddenly had the strong urge to punch a perfect stranger.

"Yeah, kind of," she admitted in a muffled voice.

"Kind of?" I raised my eyebrows and laughed. She glanced at me over her shoulder. "He's an idiot."

"You don't know him!" She turned around fully to face me.

"You want him and he's not with you. That's enough. He's an idiot."

"No, he's not. He's nice and kind and writes songs … and …"

"Whatever. I'm not interested in talking about your little crush."

"I don't have a crush."

"No, I forgot. He's your _sort of_ boyfriend. Does he know he's your sort of boyfriend?" I held my hand up.

"Wait, don't answer that. I don't wanna know. Tell me about you, Isabella."

"What _do_ you want to know?" She took another swig from the bottle and leaned back on her elbows next to me.

I turned to my side. "You don't like to push paper around … so what do you like?"

"I like to read, sometimes I write. I'll start working for Random House in the fall."

"Don't you think working for a publishing house will involve pushing around some paper as well?"

"Well, yeah, of course. But I think what's on the paper makes the difference. For me at least."

"I see. So you just graduated?"

"Yep, I was going to take the summer off, but my dad wouldn't hear of it. Apparently four years of doing nothing – cause going to college really doesn't amount to much, according to him – is enough. Plus, he needed to make one last attempt to convince me that I should join his firm in the fall. I'll be damned if I do. I mean, I failed calculus, isn't that a sign or something that I'm not meant to work with numbers?"

"I heard Einstein failed math in high school," I tried to console.

"That's a myth, you know? He never did. Before he was fifteen he mastered differential and integral calculus," she said, staring into my eyes. It felt like she could see right through me.

"Okay, you got me there. I guess you aren't meant to work with numbers. I don't see the problem." I rolled onto my back, closing my eyes.

"See, the problem is that I'm an only child, and I was a disappointment to my father since the day I was born. I think he always wanted a boy, a boy who'd play tennis, golf and who'd take over the business. Instead he got stuck with a girl who has trouble walking straight, never mind participating in athletic activities, and – ta-da – who failed math!"

"Shit. I'm sorry." I opened my eyes and looked at her, pale long legs, shiny hair and big brown eyes.

"But I think I like you just the way your are." She held her breath and didn't avert my gaze. For a minute we both stayed silent. Then she exhaled sharply and giggled.

"Oh, you're full of it, Edward Cullen. You don't even know me, and you're not getting in my pants no matter how many compliments you pay me."

"I didn't notice you were wearing any."

We spent the rest of the afternoon in hiding, finishing up the champagne and talking. She didn't stay that night for the cocktail party, but was picked up by her mother to spend the remainder of the weekend at their beach house in the Hamptons.

Without her there, I didn't care to stay and ordered a car to take me back to Manhattan, planning on the way home on what my next move needed to be.

After the second bottle of champagne, Isabella had confessed to being in love with the guy – her sort-of-boyfriend – though they weren't "officially" dating, she'd explained. I didn't care about the guy. I was dead certain he was a wimp who had nothing on me. Some sensitive lit major who went to Bard. I wasn't impressed. Men like him didn't deserve girls like her, and she'd get tired of fawning over a guy who so obviously had no game, I thought. She couldn't _seriously_ be in love with him, I concluded. Impossible. It was just a phase.

The fucking whiney little bitch named Riley Kelley Lanier turned out to be a much bigger thorn in my side than I'd predicted at that time.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. Golf courses are often an environmental hazard, particularly in dryer climates. I agree with B.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Nowforruin betas this now. I totally owe her. **

**This is for Kisvakondok who said she wanted an update – so here you go!**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**4.**

2007**  
**

The beginning was a bumpy road; a constant back and worth; a game, if you will, during which I never quite gained the upper hand.

It started out simple enough.

_Sent: 9:05 AM_

_From__:eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Any plans for lunch? _

_E. _

Edward A. Cullen

_Senior Associate_

**_Wohlfmann Brothers LLP_**

_745 7th Avenue, 28th Floor _

_New York, New York 10020_

_Tel: (212) 526-7445_

_000_

_Read: 9:10 AM_

_Sent: 9:30 AM_

_From:_ _imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Dear Edward,_

_Yes, I'm sorry to disappoint. I brought lunch with me. _

_Thank you for the invite._

_Isabella Swan_

_Intern_

**_Wohlfmann Brothers LLP_**

_745 7th Avenue, 40th Floor _

_New York, New York 10020_

_Tel: (212) 526-7425_

_000_

_Read: 9:31 AM _

_Sent: 9:32 AM_

_From: __eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_I don't believe you. Girls like you don't bring lunch. I'll pick you up at 12._

_000_

_Read: 9:36 AM _

_Sent at: 9:50 AM_

_From: __imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Edward,_

_Believe whatever you want about girls like me. I made peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. _

_However, if you insist on lunch, I'm willing to share._

_Isabella_

_000_

_Read: 9:50 AM _

_Sent: 9:51 AM_

_From: __eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Okay. 12 in the lobby?_

_000_

_Read: 9:55 AM _

_Sent at: 9:56 AM_

_From:__ imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_I shall see you then._

~o0o~

We were sitting on a metal bench in a courtyard between two office buildings. The rye bread with seeds had grape jelly soaking through it, making the bread almost completely purple.

"This is disgusting." I took one last glance at the soggy bread in my hand before tossing it into the nearest garbage can. "I truly didn't know you can fuck up a PB&J sandwich, but you sure did. Let's go get something to eat," I said, standing up.

She'd barely taken a bite of her half and eyed her handy work with sad eyes. Still, she was biting her lip – a sure sign that she was contemplating protesting my assessment of her sandwich making skills. Then, after a brief pause, she tossed it and stood up with a tractable sigh. Admitting defeat never did come easy to her.

"Fine. Let's go."

"I guess I should qualify my earlier comment. It's not that girls like you don't bring lunch, they just can't prepare anything edible."

"Don't pretend like you know me. You don't."

"Whatever you say, princess."

We went to a sushi place a short walk away. On the walk over there, I observed for the first time that the poise she'd displayed during our initial encounters was not her permanent state. Indeed, walking without a stumble had possibly required discipline and effort. True to her self-deprecating remarks at the lake, a cigarette butt tossed on the pavement could set her off tumbling.

I would've suggested more comfortable shoes at some point during those early days, if I didn't enjoy how she held on to my arm tightly every time we walked for a distance longer than a block. Once her elbow was hooked underneath my arm, she walked with her chin held up high, pretending that a stroll in five inch heels was a piece of cake for her. Her fingers clutching my arm with force gave her away; it was an act.

"You know it's disrespectful," she said in her low voice while we were sitting in a dark corner of the restaurant.

"What?" I glanced up, and then continued typing another e-mail on my BlackBerry.

"Excuse me," she corrected. Out of the corner of my eye I saw her picking up a piece of crimson tuna sashimi with her chopsticks.

I hit the send button without looking, instead staring at her mouth.

"And that's also rude."

"I'm not sure what you're talking about." I reached for my cup of sake with one hand and opened up a new e-mail with my other.

"Being on your BlackBerry during a date and then staring at my mouth that way." She licked her lips and brought a steaming cup of green tea to her bottom one.

"What way?" I raised one eyebrow, curious about her answer.

"Oh, please. You know." She rolled her eyes. I stared. She blushed and then diverted her gaze.

I chuckled. "Okay. Let's assume I know. But the date bit … I don't know about that. Is this a date?"

She huffed. "I would think lunch between two work acquaintances could loosely be referred to as a date of sorts. You have the wrong idea if you think that I'd have any interest in going on a romantic one with you, though. I don't. But fine, let's call it a lunch appointment so there is no confusion." Her voice sounded sharp, menacing almost. I grinned. "Either way, it's rude. And for the record, I really do feel sorry for the girls you are dating," she continued with an emphasis on the word 'dating.' "It can't be entertaining to hang out with a man who devotes more attention to an electronic device than the human being sitting across from him."

"Wow. Now, I'm truly hurt. But fine." I pushed my BlackBerry across the table to keep her happy. "And I don't think I've dated since high school, so there's nobody to feel sorry for."

"No, you're not. And why?"

"But I am. You're basically telling me I'm treating you in a rude manner, and then you go on to suggest that going on a date with me would be an entirely unpleasant experience. So of course I'm hurt by your unjustified assessment. And why what?"

The mocking smile on her lips told me that she didn't believe me.

"You haven't dated?" She motioned with her chopsticks for me to explain.

"Simple." I shrugged my shoulders "No time and no desire."

"But you do …" She slanted her eyes at me and didn't complete her question. Naturally, she blushed a deeper shade. She always did.

"Silly question. Have sex?" I suggested.

"You're crude. Not that it's any of my business, but yes?"

"Crude, rude, disrespectful – sort of the same thing, don't you think? Anything else you want to add to your list of complaints? And, yeah. Sure. When the mood strikes me. That blush, by the way, does look adorable on you."

"Adorable? Puppies and kittens are adorable. Is that how you usually get women to sleep with you without bothering to pay for dinner?"

I shook my head. "No sleeping involved, technically. But if you mean whether I get women to have sex with me by paying them compliments, then no, usually not necessary. And you do realize you are implying that I want to sleep with you?"

"So let me get this straight – you are suggesting that women flock to you without any effort on your part?" she asked with an incredulous expression on her face and choosing to ignore my question.

I didn't bother to respond.

"What? Without even the possibility of commitment? Do you dazzle them with your black Amex?"

"So tacky. Tsk-tsk. I prefer to pay cash. And no, most of them wouldn't know about my account balance, I'd say."

"So what is it then? Do you think you're that good looking that a smile makes women swoon?"

"Yeah. And maybe I'm good at what I'm doing. You know, a good reputation creates repeat customers."

She laughed. I wasn't amused. "Right. Your pretty eyes and your magic abilities in bed are all it takes," she said, still laughing.

"No magic involved," I said, licking some soy sauce of my lip. She stopped laughing.

"And, well, there's only one way to find out," I proposed with a detached expression on my face, like I was selling her a new exotic derivative. "Thanks, by the way."

"Ha! Now you _are_ admitting it again. All you're trying to do is get in my pants."

"Come on, Isabella. I'm a guy, and you're a nice looking girl. Why wouldn't I?" I said, leaning back with a wink.

"I'd rather not. So you believe women and men cannot share a platonic friendship?"

"Too bad. And no, unless the guy is impotent or the girl is ugly … though the last one may not be an effective deterrent either."

"I don't believe that. And what did you thank me for?"

"Pretty eyes. Though I don't know how I feel about the word 'pretty,' " I mused, pursing my lips.

"You're welcome. What would you prefer then? Intriguing? Interesting?"

"Something along those lines, I guess."

"Well, okay, the color is quite striking, and they do make you look interesting," she said with a smile.

It was the only compliment she ever paid me.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. **


	6. Chapter 6

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

**TwistedInMasen made a banner for the story – go check it out – it's up on my profile – thank you!**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**5.**

2007**  
**

After our first lunch, she gave up on bringing meals and we developed a routine of sorts. I'd shoot her an e-mail in the morning and we'd meet up around noon to spend an hour together.

Something was palatable in the air, though she was hell bent on never acknowledging it. It was stirring beneath the surface. I could feel it and I was certain, so could she. She shrugged off my compliments and attempts to flirt, but I knew she'd started to enjoy them, expect them even.

To my annoyance, she never initiated our interaction. Until that one afternoon…

_Sent:3:45 PM _

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Hey,_

_I was wondering whether you are going to the cocktail party hosted by the firm tonight? _

_Isabella Swan_

_Intern_

_Wohlfmann Brothers LLP_

_745 7th Avenue, 40th Floor _

_New York, New York 10020_

_Tel: (212) 526-7425_

_000_

_Read:3:45 PM_

_Sent:3:45 PM _

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Why do you want to know?_

_000_

_Read:3:46 PM_

_Sent: 3:47 PM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Well, I was hoping you would go, so I could hitch a ride with you._

_000_

_Read:3:47 PM_

_Sent: 3:50 PM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Would that be all, princess? Or is there anything else I can be of service with?_

_000_

_Read: 3:50 PM_

_Sent: 3:51 PM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_I thought it was a simple question. Are you going or not?_

_000_

_Read: 3:51 PM_

_Sent: 3:52 PM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Do you want me to?_

_000_

_Read: 3:52 PM_

_Sent: 3:53 PM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Yes, please. Are you always this difficult?_

_000_

_Read: 3:53 PM_

_Sent: 3:54 PM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Meet me at 6:30 in the lobby. _

Aggravated, I clicked send. Yeah, she'd contacted me, but I couldn't shake the feeling she didn't care whether I or some other random guy accompanied her to the event that was certain to be gripping.

When I headed down to the lobby at 6:40, I found her standing in a little black cocktail dress that nicely accentuated her assets, scanning the lobby nervously. I smiled as I approached her, and her shoulders relaxed minutely.

Grabbing my arm, she whispered, "You like it?"

"Like what?"

Her cheeks turned the usual shade of pink. "Never mind."

She stayed quiet and looked out the window as we drove three blocks before the car got stuck in traffic.

"Do you mind being late?" I asked, typing on my BlackBerry to irritate her.

"Well … why?"

"I thought it's obvious. The car hasn't moved in a while."

"But it's too far to walk."

"The subway." I sighed. "There's an entrance at the next corner."

"Is that going to be faster?"

"Definitely. But you'll have to walk." I pointedly glanced away from my BlackBerry and down to her shoes.

"Not a problem at all. The subway it is," she replied, clearly not giving it much thought. Most women in heels and dressed in a tight little number like the one she wore that night would have scoffed at the mere suggestion of taking public transportation, but she was too clueless to know better and still desperately pretending to be someone she wasn't.

"We're getting out," I said to my driver and opened the door.

I stepped out and briskly started walking toward the stairs of the subway entrance. When I reached the area near the entrance gates, I was tempted to pull out a MetroCard and walk through, but when I saw her, I reconsidered. Isabella looked like a fish out of water, lost with sweat forming above her brow and gripping her clutch tightly to her chest. So I took pity and waited for her.

"You have your MetroCard with you?"

"My what?"

I shook my head, slid the card through the slot near the gate and motioned for her to walk before following her.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

I turned to her and offered her my arm. She interlaced her naked one into my elbow with no hesitation and relief.

"Is that a rat?" Isabella motioned with her free hand down at the tracks while were waiting on the platform for the train, leaning ever so slightly closer into my side.

"Yep," I answered without bothering to look. "Can I ask you something?"

"Yes, of course, unless it's something … you know…"

"Personal? Private? No, it's not. You grew up in the city?"

"No, I grew up in Connecticut. Is that it?"

"Greenwich?" I smirked. She wrinkled her nose, blinked and then nodded. "That still doesn't really explain it. You've been staying in the city for how long now – two weeks?"

"Three. Plus, I usually come often to visit. My parents own a townhouse on the Upper East Side and a very good friend of mine lives downtown."

"Yet this is your first time on the subway?"

"Promise not to tell anyone?" I didn't respond. I already knew the answer. "Yes," she whispered.

"Whatever, princess."

"Don't call me that."

"What nickname would you prefer?

She didn't answer.

We arrived on time for the function, where she let go of my arm immediately, leaving me to stroll with a swing in her step toward a tall dark haired guy who was standing next to some scrawny kid with a beard. Neither of them I estimated to be much older than she. Isabella greeted both with a kiss on the cheek, like the old acquaintances they were.

"So who did you come with?" the tall kid asked, nodding in my direction. She turned around with an uncomfortable smile on her face. I wasn't sure why.

"This is Edward Cullen. He and I work together at Wohlfmann." I didn't bother to correct her.

"Hi, how are you?" I shook his outstretched hand.

"Fine. Nice to meet you. I'm Jake Black, Isabella's cousin."

"You're Billy Black's son?" I noticed the faint similarities, the dark, almost black hair, and the physique – tall and bulky. He nodded. The expression on his face, in rather classic rich kid fashion, a combination of guilt and discomfort by the mere mention of his father's name, though he possibly had no qualms about spending his money freely.

"And this is Seth," Isabella said, pointing at the skinnier kid next to them.

A short exchange of pleasantries followed. I got bored the minute they started chatting about friends they shared in common from college and high school and took a trip to the bar. Some of the guys I knew tried talking to me, but my brisk answers made them squirm for cover a couple of minutes later. The barmaid tried to flirt. I glanced at her for a second before turning away. A bottle blonde, her darker roots clearly visible, wearing a uniform a size too small with a water stain on her polyester vest wasn't my choice of poison, not even when I was on the market for some.

Neither my drink nor the persistent attempts from my colleagues to pester me with small talk could distract my focus away from her. My eyes followed her automatically wherever she went.

First, standing on a terrace outside sipping champagne, talking to some guys I didn't know, then on her cell phone laughing in the hallway near the wardrobe, and toward the end, sitting on a sofa with the her cousin. I could tell by the way some of the guys touched her arm, or let their gaze linger down her body when she talked, that they were eager for a taste of her. With no small amount of satisfaction I noticed that she ignored their advances. Every so often our eyes would meet. I never blinked, leaving her always to be the first to look away.

Eventually, I joined her on the sofa with her two preppy friends. Judging by their glassy eyes, the slurred speech and the volume of their voices, neither one of them could hold their liquor.

"So Eddie, what do you do at Wohlfmann?" the scrawny kids asked loudly the minute I sat down. I ignored his question and instead turned to Isabella.

"Where do you know wunderkind from?" I asked, leaning into her shoulder.

"Who?" She furrowed her eyebrows as if she didn't have a clue who I could possibly be referring to. "Seth?"

I raised my eyebrows.

"You know he's actually really smart. He went to Yale and works for Clearwater & Poor's," she scoffed.

"Is that supposed to impress me?" I'd always disliked the intellectual wannabes who worked at rating agencies; guys without guts to gamble but who still wanted to be part of the game. And Seth turned out to be just like the rest of them.

"Eddie, yo, do you sell the shitty CDOs everybody keeps on talking about?" Seth asked, poking me in a way too friendly manner with his elbow in the side. Would I have been with anybody – and I mean _anybody_ else – I would have gotten up and walked away.

"First of all, don't call me that," I answered with a smile on my face. The idiot laughed. "Since you just graduated college and therefore the philosophy that there is no such thing as a stupid question often proselytized by professors might still be fresh on your mind, I'll give you a pass. But believe me when I tell you that there is such a thing as a stupid question. In fact, on a scale of one to ten, ten being the dumbest, your question was surely near a ten and actually doesn't merit an answer. Since you seem to insist on one, here it is: every investment bank sells structured asset-backed securities such as CDOs and yes, so does Wohlfmann."

"So you're basically confirming that you're selling shit," the kid replied with a sneer on his face, offended that I'd called his question, and by inference, him, stupid.

"You work for Clearwater & Poor's, correct?"

"Yeah, so what?" the kid snapped in an indignant voice.

"Well, then you should know that Wohlfmann received excellent ratings from your employer. We sell and leverage to buy CDOs for investors, something that can be discovered with very little research I assure you. Ergo, reason stands to argue that we're selling excellent securities." I downed the rest of my drink and leaned back. The kid had run out of steam and rose to stumble away. Jake laughed good-naturedly at my comment and tellingly made no move to follow his friend.

"That was funny," he said with a grin on his face.

Isabella seemed less pleased with the little chat I'd had with her friend and got up to follow him, shooting me an angry glare in the process. I stood up quickly and snatched her arm before she had a chance to get away.

"Can I ask you why you insisted on coming here with me? One would think your boyfriend would have volunteered," I suggested in a sharper tone than I'd intended.

"I already told you," she hissed. "My parents are making me go to all the firm's social events. I thought you had to show up too, so it wouldn't be any trouble for you. I wouldn't have bothered if I'd known that Seth and Jake were going to be here. And just for your 411, Riley can't be here because he's in Mexico for the summer working for Amnesty International. Unlike other people, he cares about other things than money." She tried to move her arm out of my grip, but I wasn't done yet.

"I thought I'd made it clear that I don't care for these events," I said in a low voice, pulling her closer. "Since I'm assuming by 'other' people you mean me, you already know I only care about my net gain, and trust me when I tell you that my bonus only depends on how much short term profits I create for the firm. As for your boyfriend, sounds like a nice vacation." I let go of her arm when I'd finished my last word. She swayed for a second but then found her composure.

"You know what? You can be a real asshole sometimes!" she seethed, walking away.

Frustrated and angry, I left five minutes later. I didn't yet fully comprehend why I'd let her get under my skin that way. I spent the night with a bottle of scotch in my hand in front of the computer initiating sales until I went to my office at five AM.

I purposefully chose to ignore our lunch ritual the next day, wondering whether she'd break down and contact me. Honestly, I didn't expect her to, and I wasn't surprised when I didn't get e-mail. However, she did make a point of stopping by my office shortly past noon.

"Hey," she whispered standing in my door with a smile on her face as if nothing had happened during the prior night. "Busy?"

I nodded, wondering why I kept on misjudging her. I was on the phone with a relatively small time investor, someone who didn't matter, and getting my shoes polished – both activities that could have been terminated immediately at my choosing.

"I'll be right back," she said, still smiling.

I watched her leave. Twenty minutes later, almost regretting my decision to have ignored her and starting to contemplate my next move, she returned with a bag from the Chinese restaurant down the block.

"What's this?" I asked before returning my focus to the screen in front of me.

"Well, since you looked too busy to get food, I thought I'd bring you lunch." She started unpacking various containers on my desk.

"If I'd been hungry, I'd have asked Jessica to order something for me. And really, princess, greasy Chinese food is our idea of a lunch treat?"

I took a quick look to see whether my words had the desired effect, but her smile remained unmarred by my response.

"Don't be such sour puss, Edward. Who rained on your parade today? You can't possibly be still mad at me for last night; not that you didn't deserve it," she continued undeterred, laughing.

I stared at her and reached for a carton of Mei Fun noodles she'd opened up.

"And now you're going to eat it?" she asked with a raised eyebrow and a half-smile playing on her lips.

I bit into the paper chopstick wrapper, pushed the sticks out and started to dig into the food. Her behavior was infuriating me, but I didn't know how to respond.

She slid into a chair across from me with a box of food in her hand. "You know, normal people would say thank you."

"I thought we'd already established that I'm rude, so why bother?"

When I glanced up into her direction, the expression on her face had shifted to one of uneasy reserve. She poked the chopsticks around in her food.

"Thanks," I said finally, exhaling.

When we'd both given up on eating and she was tossing the mostly full containers in the trash, I looked at her again. "So tell me, Isabella, what exactly are you doing here if I'm such a rude person who cares too much about money?"

"I don't know. I thought we were friends, but I guess I was wrong," she answered with a sigh, turning to leave my office.

"Wait," I said when she reached the door. "Please." I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for brief moment. "I'm sorry. I was being _rude_. Thank you very much for bringing me lunch. Tomorrow will be my treat, if you're still interested in being friends."

"I'm sorry for calling you an asshole and rude. I'm sorry about Seth, too. You're right. He's an idiot. But my dad and his are friends, so… anyway, I'm sorry."

I didn't expect the apology and faltered for a second before shrugging it off. "It's okay … possibly the truth half the time."

"Still, I shouldn't have." She looked at me with a sincere expression on her face.

"Well, apology accepted. It's fine. Don't worry about it." I smiled at her partially because I tried to assure her that I'd accepted her apology, and partially – at least to some degree – because I was pleased that I'd gotten under skin as well.

* * *

A/N – CDOs = Collateralized Debt Obligations played a pivotal role in financing the US housing bubble. If you are interested in finding out more, NPR's _This American Life_ produced an excellent program illustrating and describing what caused the crisis, and ultimately the collapse of some major financial institutions, leading to a worldwide depression. It is called "The Giant Pool of Money." Google it, if you like.

Now I feel very pretentious, so I'm going to shut up.

Thank you for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**6.**

2007**  
**

We didn't move beyond the status of being friends – or the stalemate, as I referred to it – for a long time; we were always meant to be something else though, and maybe that was what tripped us up, made us both make decisions we came to regret.

After that first visit, she'd started coming by my office quite frequently – often unannounced –and started eating up my time, time that had been devoted to work before.

"It's raining. Should we order in?" she asked, walking through the door while I was still on the phone. No one else was ever allowed to do that, but she'd successfully not only charmed me, but also my secretary.

I nodded. "Yes, that's all. I'll put the order in now. I'll let you know when we should sell. Okay. Bye." I ended the phone call, tossed the headset aside, and hit the intercom button. "Jess, order some lunch. Sushi?" I asked, looking up at her.

"Yes, please."

"Okay. The usual. Two orders and one Diet Coke, one regular."

"Would that be all, sir?"

"Yes, that's all." I pushed the red button and began focusing my attention solely on her choice of clothes (I still remember - a grey dress, pretty but too modest for my taste). "So, how's your day been?

"Fine, thank you. You know _I_ could have just called the restaurant, right?" She slid into the chair across from my desk, crossing her legs and rolling her foot.

"What for?" I replied absentmindedly, fixated on the movement of her ankle.

"Because." She slapped her hand on the desk, waiting for me look at her face, before giving me a forbidding look. "It seems silly to make your secretary do that! I'm sure it didn't come with her job description. And for Christ's sake, stop staring!"

"She's actually my assistant, and I'm pretty sure the term 'assist' includes such things as ordering lunch." I ignored her request, shifting my gaze to her perfect calves.

Isabella kicked back her head in amusement, making me shift my attention from the wonders of her curves to her face. "Bossy, spoiled, and impolite – that's what you sound like."

"Excuse me? Just because your limousine liberal consciousness prevents you from using the support staff doesn't make me spoiled." I leaned back in my chair with my elbows behind my head.

"You're the one with a limo. My dad never lets me use his, just so you know. Beside, you ordering lunch through your secretary wouldn't irk me half as much if you'd actually treat her like a human being. And there's nothing wrong with being a liberal."

"I didn't say there was … nor was my comment meant to be taken that way. But never mind that …what do you mean by I don't treat her like a human being? She has reasonable hours, gets paid quite well, and I make sure she gets a decent sized bonus." I was at that point just a bit outraged by her superior attitude.

"Great …" My comment had earned me another eye roll. "That's all nice and dandy, but you do realize you never even use the word 'please' when you ask her for stuff, right? As a matter of fact 'thank you,' 'good morning,' and 'how are you,' are also woefully absent from your vocabulary … unless … well unless, of course, you're dealing with somebody you want something from."

"Really? You think it matters more whether I say 'thank you' and 'please,' rather than whether I make sure she gets compensated?"

"Not _more_. I didn't say it matters more. You just … you lack common politeness … sometimes. My dad would call it good manners. I don't know. I guess what I'm trying to say, it's hard to live with people if they're as curt as you are. Besides, you spend so much time at work, what's so wrong with being nice to the people you work with?"

"So basically you're calling me rude again," I said, wondering what her father was like, whether he was anything like her.

"Yes. Get over it. Work on it instead." The expression on her face was a mixture of sternness and affection, very much like a third grade school teacher and I liked it.

So I did work on it, despite the fact that part of me thought she was full of it. After all, ignoring most of the people around me had served me just fine so far. I was even inclined to believe it had helped me successfully avoid unnecessary conflicts and sticky situations.

One morning, in the middle of July, when the heat had already descended in full force on the city, I noticed while scanning my e-mails on the way to the office that the firm was sponsoring some small, obviously painfully trendy, gallery opening. I resolved to invite Isabella to it figuring that sort of event would be right up her alley. In an exceptionally good mood at the prospect of spending the night with my favorite girl (and because I'd received an unexpected additional bonus the prior day), I walked past the reception desk on my floor. I was about to pass Lauren without a response after hearing her routine greeting, when I remembered a certain conversation with Isabella and turned on my heel.

"Good morning, Lauren. I'm fine. How are you this morning?" Instead of the expected blush I was accustomed to receiving when I approached other females, she blanched the second I opened my mouth to address her.

"I'm fine Mr. Cullen," she mumbled, looking uncomfortable with her jaw suddenly tight. I took a closer look at her from the side and noticed that she had her hands clasped over her belly, her fingers nervously clamping and clutching. When she saw me staring, she continued apologetically, "Just … you … know… the usual queasiness that comes with being pregnant. But I'm feeling much better this month than I did last … so no worries. I won't have to take breaks again."

"I wasn't aware you were taking any."

"Well, yes. Usually one of the secretaries takes over the station … and –oh!" Her face lit up at the memory, "– one day one of the interns was nice enough to step in."

I nodded and walked away.

_Sent: 9:10 AM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_The firm is sponsoring a gallery opening somewhere in the Lower East Side. I can put us on the guest list if you are interested in attending._

_P.S. Thanks for taking over the reception desk on my floor when Lauren needed a break._

_E. _

_Senior Associate_

_Wohlfmann Brothers LLP_

_745 7th Avenue, 28th Floor _

_New York, New York 10020_

_Tel: (212) 526-7445_

I hit send, not entirely sure whether I was correct about my guess and curious as to whether she'd agree to meet up with me outside of the regularly scheduled firm activities and lunches. I was desperate for more.

_Read: 9:11 AM_

_Sent: 9:12 AM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_I'd loved to go! But I'm supposed to meet a friend tonight. I don't want to cancel (I've already ditched her twice since moving to the city). Can she come along? Her name is Alice Brandon. _

_P.P.S. No problem. She must be near the end of her third trimester now. I hope she stops working soon._

_000_

_Read: 9:12 AM_

_Sent: 9:13 AM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_No problem. I'll put her on the guest list as well. _

_P.P.P.S. To be frank, I had no idea she was pregnant._

_000_

_Read: 9:13 AM_

_Sent: 9:14 AM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(dot)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Thank you! Lunch at the Cafeteria around noon?_

_P.P.P.P.S. See what you discover when you make an effort?_

_000_

_Read: 9:15 AM_

_Sent: 9:15 AM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(dot)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_De nada. The cafeteria? Why? The food isn't that great and I thought you hated the people?_

_P.P.P.P.P.S. I don't care to know everything. _

_000_

_Read: 9:17 AM_

_Sent: 9:18 AM_

_From: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_I'm supposed to actually do some work today. Since I suck with numbers, this silly task is taking me forever. Going to the cafeteria seems to be the most time efficient thing to do if I want to go out tonight!_

_P.P.P.P.P.P.S. You should!_

_000_

_Read: 9:15 AM_

_Sent: 9:15 AM_

_From: eacullen(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_To: imswan(at)wohlfmann(dot)com_

_Okay. See you then._

I couldn't leave well enough alone. Instead of waiting until lunchtime, I went up to her floor around eleven, feeling somehow obligated to help – something I'd also usually avoided. Banking, like any other competitive trade, was a dog eat dog world. You didn't get rewarded for being nice and helping the idiot next to you out, even if he or she was a friend. Unless it was someone I'd be able to get a favor from in return, I'd never bothered, and I wasn't sure whether I ever wanted her to do me a favor. I only wanted her to do things for me on her own volition, not out of obligation.

Walking down the corridors of her floor, I soon found her sitting in a small cubicle with papers scattered all around her, her hair in an abnormally messy bun, and her brows furrowed deep in concentration.

"So, this is what is keeping you busy, huh?" I said, grabbing some pages off her desk.

"Edward, what are you doing here? Is it twelve yet?" she asked, her eyes widening in panic, searching for the time on her computer.

"Relax. I'm here to help." I took the rest of the pages scattered around her desk and started leafing through them.

"You don't have to do that … I'm sure you're busy and this … this is not really that important. After all, if it was they wouldn't have given it to me." She grimaced and looked away.

"What did they ask you do with this?" I sat down on her desk, pulling the rest of the pages out of her hands.

"Uh, this is so embarrassing," she mumbled, her cheeks turning pink.

"Just tell me."

"Ummm, well … I'm just supposed to read it and give a short summary of it. Sounds easy enough, right? Except half the pages are graphs and the other half is full of tables … I've no idea what it's even about … some pipeline project …" she lamented and started biting the skin next to her fingernail.

"Okay. Let's do this. We'll be done soon, I promise." I grabbed a chair and dictated a short summary analysis of the prospectus to her. She interrupted me occasionally to ask questions, so it took longer than it would have when I had been doing these shit tasks as a junior analyst by myself.

"Thank you so much," she said when we're done. "I would've never been able to do this without you. I should probably point out when I hand this in that it isn't really my work."

"Don't." I shook my head. "This is project finance … not even your group. I wasn't even aware the firm does stuff like that …" I shook my head wondering from whose desk the prospectus might have come. " Anyway, they shouldn't have given it to you." I tossed the papers on her desk. The prospectus was strange enough, never mind that they had given the assignment to someone who was clueless when it came to data analysis, but I didn't think much off it. Possibly something the firm thought of getting involved in, I pondered and quickly stopped thinking about it.

By the time we headed out for lunch it was two-thirty. The elevator made a stop at the thirty-first-floor and a nervous looking guy sweating bullets in the air-conditioned space stumbled out.

"So what's on that floor?"

"Why?"

"Because the people who get off all look like they're about to be fired? You know, perspiring and twitching."

I grinned at her description. "It's where the president's office is. Sam Uley. I don't think he fires people. That would be HR on the twenty-second."

"Oh, Sam," she said, something akin to recognition seemingly flashing across her face.

I shot her a questioning glance. The way his first name had rolled of her tongue so easily suggesting familiarity.

"My dad is friends with him," she admitted. "I only met him a few times when he came over for dinner…"

"Well, I guess you have one up on almost everybody who works here." We walked out of the elevator and I point out a separate elevator gate at the other end of the building. "He has a private elevator and never mingles. I only ever met him once," I explained.

She laughed.

I always thought the private elevator and side entrance nearby were the most eccentric idiosyncrasies about the guy. Turned out it was all part of his scheme. Avoiding contact with the masses, the sheep, made it easer to screw them, fuck them up the ass, as Emmett would have called it, while he stuck his head in the sand and filled his bank accounts to the brim. When push came to shove and he knew most of the firm's employees would soon be without income, it possibly didn't affect him at all because he hardly knew them. Not that he would've cared had he known them, I'd think. He possibly only cared about his nest egg. Still it was easier … less messy.

"Cullen!" I glanced over my shoulder as we were stepping out of the chilly lobby into the hot summer air and saw Jasper Whitlock standing on the sidewalk near the entrance with a cigarette dangling between his lips. "Oh, you're with someone." He smirked when he caught sight of Isabella next to me. "I was just going to ask whether you wanted to join me and some of the guys from the trading floor tonight. But I guess you're out."

"Yep. Another time?" I hadn't hung out with Jasper in ages and wasn't really in the habit of doing so unless a client requested a night out on the town. Jasper was the best man for that. He ran his slightly shaky hand through his too long and unwashed hair and raised his shoulders briefly before rubbing his nose vigorously. I got the feeling that nothing much had changed in Jasper Whitlock's life. His act, his appearance, all a tale sign that Jasper had spent last night in some dark club in the company of some prime Russian imports with a coke spoon up his nose.

"Sure thing," he said with a wink.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" Isabella stepped forward.

"Sure. Jasper Whitlock." I nodded in Jasper's direction. "Isabella Swan."

"Nice to meet you, Jasper." She held out her hand for him to shake and of course Jasper pulled one of his sleaze ball gestures and actually kissed it instead.

"The pleasure is all mine," he said with a smile. I shook my head in disapproval. The idiot just grinned while she giggled.

"I'm hungry. Let's go. See you later," I said, pulling her by her elbow away from Whitlock.

"So," she started, sucking on the straw in her Coke, "do you think you could ask this Jasper guy to come along tonight?"

"No."

"Come on, Edward. I think Alice would really like him," she suggested.

"I don't think it's a good idea. What is it anyway you think she'd like? – Your friend that is. The Kurt Cobain hair-do? The stink of last night's debauchery…cold sweat and smoke with a hint of gin?"

"Are you jealous?"

"No. Why would I be?" I tried my best to keep my expression calm. Of course, I was.

"Whatever."

"He's busy with his buddies anyway."

I thought that ended it.

It didn't.

Later that night as I got out of the car in front of the gallery to meet Isabella and her friend, I saw none other than Jasper Whitlock ambling down the street toward us.

"What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Cullen. Actually, your friend Isabella invited me," Jasper answered, kissing Isabella on the cheek.

"Hi! I thought you wouldn't mind. I called up the public relations office, and they said it wouldn't be a problem to add Jasper to the guest list." I stared, perplexed, while Jasper reached for the hand of a tiny girl with short bangs dressed in an oddly asymmetrical dress. "This is my friend Alice Brandon."

"Lovely to meet you." I heard him murmur.

Despite my first trepidations, the evening turned out fine. We drank the bad wine, circled around the sparse pieces of art and managed to have fun until the place closed and we wandered to another watering hole.

Alice and Jasper hit it off. I relaxed when I noticed that the girl was not without moxie and most certainly less innocent than her dear friend. Fuck, the girl could hold her liquor almost better than Jasper, and that was no small feat. So I stopped worrying and enjoyed the evening.

After God knows how many shots of Patron and after Jasper had gone out to buy cigarettes and Isabella had disappeared into the restroom, Alice leaned into my shoulder and said with a conspiratorial tone to her voice, "Edward, I like you."

"Thanks. I like you too, Alice." She gripped my arm tightly and I wondered briefly how someone like Isabella, outwardly so very proper and disciplined, had become friends with Alice, a girl so strange and peculiar that it was plain obvious she didn't care what people thought of her. Alice's eyes were glassy and though she was definitely drunk, I thought she wasn't too far-gone.

"And because I like you, I'm going to give you some advice." She pursed her thin lips and trained her grey eyes on me. "Bella is a nice girl…though maybe that's the wrong word. Good? Good would probably better. She's _the good girl_. You know the kind who always does what daddy tells her to and who tries to please everyone?" I raised my eyebrows and smirked; she wasn't telling me anything I hadn't already figured out by myself. "I see you noticed. Did you know she didn't even drink her first glass of booze until she was twenty-one?" I shook my head. "It's true. She always, always, always resists temptation and trust me – in her world – there is loads and loads of that." She sighed loudly.

"I see." I was starting to wonder whether I'd misjudged her state before and the girl was indeed way drunker than I'd originally thought.

"Okay… I'm talking too much. Let me get to the point. While she has undoubtedly encountered many temptations, I think you are her greatest one."

"How so?"

"Well, you're handsome, cocky, a bit of wild card, obviously not born rich – "

"Obviously?" I asked, though I wasn't offended.

"Well, at least that's my impression. Am I wrong?"

"No," I answered with a chuckle.

"Okay, so where was I – ah! – in short, you're risky! You're the sort of person most of her friends would tell her to stay away from, despite the fact that you come with a swell enough bank account. Yet, I believe that you're exactly what she needs, because you know what happens to people who never give into temptation?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me."

"I find that people who resist temptation invariably lead depressingly stunted lives. And I don't want that for her. She deserves better. I'm afraid if she resists you, sooner or later she'll end up marrying one of those no-good boring weasels in her circle of preppy friends. A couple of years later she'll quit her job, join the charity circus, and end up as miserable as her mother. Have you met her?"

"No. I can't say I have."

"Well, let me tell you she is one unhappy little woman."

"Who's unhappy?" Jasper slurred, sitting down next to Alice with his arm around her shoulder.

"Well, hello darling!" she purred, proceeding to kiss him and pulling his hand into her lap. "Say, do you want to get out of here?"

"Sure," I heard Jasper say. Not wasting a minute, Alice got up and started pulling Jasper along with her.

"See ya, Cullen." Jasper saluted me with two fingers.

Our conversation was over for the night, leaving me curious and frustrated. If Alice could see the attraction, how much longer should I wait to make a move? I started vexing my brain only to be interrupted by Isabella's return.

"Where are you going, Alice?" Isabella said, walking over to our table just as they were about to leave.

"Home. I'll call you tomorrow, honey," she cooed, winked at her and kissed her sloppily good-bye.

"Stop! Alice! You said I could sleep at your place tonight," Isabella yelled.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I forgot. Wait! – I though you were renting with Kate downtown?"

"We haven't found a place yet. I told you about it, Alice."

"It must have slipped my mind. I'm truly sorry … but?" Alice moved her head in the direction of Jasper with a smile and continued on her way to the door.

"Alice!"

"Just take a cab and go home. I'm sure daddy isn't even going to notice. Besides, it's only three, and you're freaking twenty-two, Bella. He'll deal with it."

"Fine. Call me tomorrow." Isabella shrugged her shoulders in resignation, watching her friend leave. "I can't believe she ditched me," she whispered once Alice was out the door.

I tossed some bills on the table and stood up next to her. "Do you wanna get out of here?"

"Sure."

Once outside, I started scanning the street for a cab.

"Hey, do you think anybody will mind if I spend the night on the sofa in the conference room of the office?"

"What?" In disbelief, I turned to look at her only to find her with a dead serious expression on her face. "Is your dad really going to flip out because you went out?"

"You have no idea. I'll get a never ending guilt trip about how irresponsible it is to go out during the week if you have to go to work the next day."

"Jeez." I laughed. "A guilt trip? That's all?"

"Just tell me, do you think anybody will even notice?" she shrieked. Then her eyes darted everywhere before they finally landed on me. She looked like she was about to cry. "I know you don't understand … my dad has these expectations. He's staying in the city tonight, so I know he'll hear me when I come home …" Her hands were fiddling with her shirt.

My laughter died and I swallowed hard before offering her something I'd never done before – at least not to a woman.

"Listen, don't sleep at the office. I have an extra bedroom." She shot me an odd glance, which made me hold my hands up defensively. "It has a lock. I'll give you the key. If you don't trust me, lock the door. I can take you with me to work tomorrow or you can take a separate cab. I won't tell anyone."

"Okay. Thanks," she said, sounding as small as she looked. I was surprised actually how quickly she gave in and accepted my offer.

I hailed the cab and she slid into the seat, looking uncomfortable and tense.

"So … you're looking to move out?" I queried when the tension didn't dissipate.

"Yeah. My college roommate and I were looking at apartments to rent." Biting her lip nervously, she glanced out the window, averting my gaze. "But … her job doesn't pay much and my next one won't either. Her parents don't have that much money, so she can't ask them to help and mine have already announced they won't."

"Why?" Her dad could possibly afford to buy a whole apartment building, if not a block, even at the height of the real estate boom. To me, their refusal to help their daughter out with the rent didn't make sense. Hell, even my old man had given me what he could spare when I'd rented my first apartment, and he'd had nothing.

She turned her head and stared at me with wide eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Why wouldn't your parents pitch in with the rent?" Her eyes closed for a second before she looked away. "Never mind. None of my business," I said quickly. "Where are you guys looking to rent?"

"We've tried everywhere." A loud sigh escaped her, leaning back.

"Where exactly is everywhere?"

"You know…all over Manhattan."

"Surely not in every neighborhood," I stated.

"Well … most areas anyway."

"Try Brooklyn and Queens."

"Mmmh, Kate's been saying that … maybe we will."

Somehow I couldn't envision it.

~o0o~

"Thank you, Edward," she said, after I'd shown her the linen closet and the room.

"No problem. Hang on." I stalked into the kitchen and pulled the keys to the different rooms in the apartment out of a drawer. "Here," I said, holding the keys out to her with the chuckle. "I don't know which one fits. One of them should work though."

"Oh, that's okay. I trust you," she murmured, looking flustered.

"Okay."

"Good night, Edward." She turned around and closed the door.

"Good night, Bella," I whispered against the closed door. I knew I wasn't going to get laid tonight and maybe not even anytime soon, but I was convinced from that moment on that she was the one who had to make the next move.

~o0o~

_September 15, 2008_

_I can't face her yet … I'm too worried about her response to my proposal (the one without the ring and all the rest). I know I need to get it over with, but I can't quite muster the nerve yet. So I do what I haven't done in ages: I find the next Irish Bar, a holdover from the days when the city wasn't yet plastered with fancy lounges and eateries, and order a beer sitting at the dark oak bar. _

* * *

**Thank you for reading. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. Special thx also to the person who rec'd this on ADF and to Kisvakondok because without her I would have possibly abandoned this story.**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**7.**

2007**  
**

I spent my first night with Isabella awake on my sofa, whiskey bottle in hand, and only retreated to my bedroom in the morning hours. She got up early and left without knocking on my door to wish me a good morning. The room she'd slept in was spotless after she left, as if nobody had used it. The only reminder of her overnight stay – a post-it note that read "thank you" left on the refrigerator door.

During the next month we continued to spend time together – at lunches, firm events, and some nights going to parties or bars, often with Alice and Jasper in tow. They had become sort of an item, though neither admitted it. Occasionally we hung out with her cousin, Jake, who, in retrospect, turned out to be the only decent guy among all her lousy relatives. Yet something between us had changed after that night.

I tried to follow Alice's words of crackpot drunken wisdom as best as I knew how. I tried to do nice things for her, like invite her to a movie screening an old friend gave me passes to or take her to a restaurant I knew she liked. I even hooked her up with a broker friend of mine who promised to help her with her apartment search. It was stuff I'd never done before, and to be frank, I wasn't sure whether I was going about it the wrong way.

More and more I let my hands linger on her arm, my lips hover near her ear, kissing her goodbye on the cheek and waiting, waiting for her to come to me, to give into temptation. But she didn't. While she never shrieked back from my physical advances, she never initiated them either and most certainly never responded to them the way I wanted her to.

Instead of making a move, or even just acknowledging the fact that something existed between us, she became quieter, withdrawn almost, and sometimes, without any warning, she wouldn't call me for days. When we did hang out after one of her odd vanishing episodes she seemed more distant, more closed off, than before. I was at my wits' end, convinced that whatever I was doing was having the opposite effect.

Until that one night in August …

It was late in the evening, and I was still in my office. Jess had left for the day and the offices near me were all empty and dark. I was working on some deals that hadn't gotten done during the day when Isabella called me.

"Edward?" she asked when I picked up without saying anything.

"Yeah."

"Okay… I was worried I dialed the wrong number. Were you asleep?"

"It's ten o'clock. Do you really need an answer for that question?" I laughed. "I'm in the office."

"Shit. I'm sorry. Is it because we took such a long lunch?"

"No. Don't worry."

"Listen, Alice is hosting an impromptu party at her place right now. Just a few friends … so I thought you should come."

"Mmmmh."

"Will you?"

I sighed. I should have stayed in the office for at least a couple of hours more to get some work done, but I was incapable of saying no to her … or maybe just unwilling? To add to my already uncontrollable penchant to give into her every whim, I knew the next day would be her last day as an intern with the firm, which meant I wouldn't see her on a regular basis anymore. In short – I was desperate. "Sure. Text me her address again? I'll be there in an hour."

"Okay. I'm doing it right now. See you then. Bye."

Despite my promise, I was running late when my driver pulled up in front of Alice's building in Chinatown. I found the old metal door downstairs ajar, a newspaper stuck in the hinge, and climbed up the steep dirty stairs to her loft.

"Do you have fire?" some euro-trash kid with a heavy accent asked when I reached Alice's floor. He was clutching the door to the fire escape open with one hand and holding an unlit cigarette in the other.

Without a word, I tossed him my lighter and walked toward Alice's apartment. The place was crowded with people spilling out into the hallway and onto the stairs. Smoke hung thick in the air as I pushed my way into a space that vaguely resembled a living room. The base of the music was thumping in an irregular beat. A girl, dressed in high heels and a dress so bright that it threatened to burn my retinas, pushed past me as I scanned the sofa for Isabella. Two guys in stained jeans and wool hats, looking more like hobos, were sitting on the coffee table.

"Cullen!" I felt Jasper sweaty arm around my shoulders before I saw him in the dimly lit room.

"Hey, Whitlock. Have you seen Isabella?"

He shook his head and chortled. "Cullen… I have to tell you, you're starting to scare me. Whipped without getting any! I never thought I'd see the day."

"Ah, yeah? Why don't you go back to powdering your nose?" I shrugged away his arm.

"Well, I hope the work pays off. I haven't seen you invest this much in anything but your work," he said and walked away. I returned to the task at hand – searching for her – when I felt someone grab my arm.

"Hey. You're late," she said with a pout on her face and a drink in her hand, before leaning in to kiss me on the cheek. The small gesture startled me for a second and it wasn't the only thing that was different about her that night. For the first time since I'd met the girl, she was dressed in jeans, a tank top and flip-flops, by far the most casual outfit I'd ever seen her in. No heels, no designer garb –nothing. She almost looked like a regular girl.

I slung my arm around her waist and pulled her closer, smelling vodka and something sweet. "Did you miss me, princess?"

"Please, don't call me that. Let's get you a drink." She didn't try to struggle out of my embrace and started dragging me toward a small, sparsely equipped kitchen area at the end of the room.

"Again, what would you like me to call you then?" I asked, stepping over a pile of black garbage bags to get to the counter. Every surface was sticky and the smell of beer permeated the place.

"Bella. You can call me Bella." She smiled, staring into my eyes. "What would you like? Vodka or beer?" she asked, opening up the freezer.

"Or have some tequila!" a guy with white blond hair slurred, holding out a blue bottle toward my chest. "Look, it has a worm in it! It's the best pure agave shit you can get on this side of the border."

"I'll take a beer, thanks," I said, turning to Isabella who opened up the fridge and handed me one.

"I'll have some," she said, taking the bottle out of the guy's hand.

"Don't." I attempted to pry the bottle away from her, but didn't get far. The whole protective act was contrary to my nature. Usually I'd have refilled her glass myself, but her behavior was off and I'd attributed it, maybe wrongly, to alcohol consumption.

"You're not my father, Edward."

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't," she said coolly, any signs of drunkenness temporarily gone.

"Yeah, come on. Have a shot!" the guy encouraged her, patting her on the back. I let go of the bottle. She took a swig from it, letting half the stuff drip down her chin in the process. I felt like smacking the guy who grinned and started puffing on his steel pure pipe.

After she handed the freak his bottle back, she grabbed my hand and leaned into me. "Come to the roof with me," she said, before pulling me out of the apartment, two floors up and onto some ladder, up to the roof.

Humidity clung in the air and the lights of the city shone brightly against the black sky as we stepped outside. We found Alice and Jasper sitting on an old garden swing in the middle of the black tar expanse and joined them, her leaning close to me even after we sat down. Before long, we started doing shots of some horrible tasting booze Alice had on hand. When the bottle was empty, I was buzzed, enjoying the moment with Isabella close to me, her head resting on my shoulder.

Eventually Jasper did what he always did. It wasn't a surprise to me, but for some reason I half expected some odd glances from the girls.

"Ladies first," he said passing a brown glass vile of coke to Alice, who casually took a quick hit, before passing it along to Isabella.

I resisted the urge to take the stuff away from her when she lifted the black plastic spoon to her nose. She was right, I thought, I wasn't her father. Never mind that I was never above and beyond reproach when it came to illicit affairs. So who was I to judge?

We made it back down to the apartment later on, her still pressed into my side, holding on to me and me in turn, acting like a fool, wrapped up around her. I should've known, seen where this was leading and maybe I did, somewhere in the recesses of my mind.

Alice's apartment had miraculously emptied out, except for a couple of burnouts still hanging around the sofa finishing up the last bottle of vodka. Jasper and Alice had disappeared as well – where to I didn't know.

"Do you want to stay at my place?" I offered, itching to get out of there.

She didn't answer. Instead I felt her arms wrap around my neck and her lips press against mine, kissing me. There was nothing shy or innocent about her kiss, no room left for doubt of what she wanted, with her tongue insistent, her lips moving – trying to get me to respond.

Maybe I should've pushed her away, waited for a moment when she'd be sober. It would have been the honorable thing to do, I supposed. But that was never my strong suit anyway. Taking what I wanted was what I excelled at. And so I didn't stop her.

Instead, I kissed her back, like I'd wanted to for over two months. The taste of Cherry ChapStick and cranberry juice and her lips so soft … how could I resist? It all happened fast after that. Her hands on my back, in my hair, her body pressed against mine …

We tumbled into the bathroom, me pulling up her top, her unbuttoning my shirt. I didn't protest, I didn't think. Her hands were unzipping my pants one second, and pulling them down the next.

What followed at that point was inevitable, my actions all instinct.

The bra unhooked, skin revealed, the jeans discarded, her underwear gone, one look in the medicine cabinet for condoms, the sweat dripping down my face, down her breasts, the feel of her mouth on my neck, her legs spread, her skin so smooth, I pushed. A low moan from her and her hips lifting off the vanity, pulling me in with her legs crossed behind me …

I couldn't stop. I wanted it too badly. Pent up energy, cravings, alcohol and adrenalin coursing through me, I let go.

When it was over … when I was done, she hung in my arms, looking small, fragile and so young. Reality set in and remorse followed. It wasn't how I'd imagined it would go.

I liked to tell myself afterward, how I just couldn't help myself; how it was just nature taking its course; how all the blood supply rushed from my brain straight to my dick – or some equally stupid explanation; how I loved her despite the fact I didn't tell her and had this longing, gnawing feeling in my gut that made me take whatever I could get because I thought she'd never give in again. But it would be just an excuse.

Before thinking of what it would feel like for her, I stepped away. Mechanically and without a second glance at her, I pulled up my pants and buttoned my shirt up. I searched for her underwear and picked it up off the floor.

"Stop!" She smacked my hand with force when I tried to hand it to her. "You don't have to help me get dressed. I knew this would happen … I knew you'd run …" she murmured, tears thick in her voice.

My head snapped up at her accusations and I stared at her, her long hair disheveled, her makeup smeared. With a tear falling down her cheek and her arms covering her chest, she looked broken. No snappy remark, no quick shot back – I had nothing. I stayed silent, drew a blank. I thought she knew, in fact I was dead certain she must have sensed at some point before, that I would never run from her.

"It's all you want from me, isn't it?" she demanded.

Three months of waiting, three months of wanting, three months of falling for her and nothing – no words, no gesture – could express how I felt.

I wanted to tell her that she was all I wanted in this world and this – as short and rough as it had been, was still the best I'd ever had. Sitting naked, sweaty and in tears in front of me on a cheap Formica vanity, she was still the most beautiful woman to me. She was perfect and too good for me in many ways.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to happen. Not this way. You deserve so much better than this … " I said, looking around. I went down on my knees, picked up her underwear again and started dressing her with care, kissing her along the way, before pulling her back into my arms. "I'd never run from you. I thought you'd know that by now."

I kissed her slowly – the way I should have right from the get go, settling on the black and white tiled floor with her on my lap.

"It's okay. It … you … was what I wanted. Nothing to be sorry about." She hiccupped. "Besides, I started it."

"You're drunk and high." I chuckled dryly. "You're not responsible for your own actions."

"Not drunk or high enough to not know what I was doing … planning. The rest was just to give me courage." She shook her head.

"Planning?"

"Shut up. I'm not giving you compliments."

"You suck at planning," I said, letting my fingers rest on the small patch of skin above her jeans. I would have preferred her to be sober and in my bed.

She scoffed. "No, I don't. I'm an excellent planner … you just don't know. Please don't ruin this for me," she said, which shut me up. I'd ruined enough for one night. "I have to go home to my parents' place tonight. We should probably get going." Yet instead, I felt her arms tighten around me and so I held her closer. "Just another minute or so…"

I should've had a suspicion, an idea, heard the fear, the doubt… but honestly I didn't.

"Okay," I whispered into her hair. "I don't have anywhere to be."

We sat there still and quiet on the hard dirty floor for a while before she moved to stand up.

In the cab en route to her house, driving up Park Avenue, as the purple sky turned to light pink, we kissed. I wasn't ready to let go of her. For the first time in my life, I wanted to pretend, just for one day, that the outside world didn't exist. I wanted to take her to my place and lock the door just to hold her and kiss her and spend time with her.

"Don't go," I said when the car came to a halt in front of a white building on Madison.

"I have to."

I kissed her one last time and then she was out of the cab.

I watched her as she walked toward the building entrance, barefoot with her flip-flops in her hand and hesitated for a second. In the end, I couldn't step out of my own shadow, couldn't run after her, pull her back into my arms and tell her that I loved her. I stayed in the car. I regretted it, of course, regardless of whether it would have changed anything that followed. It possibly wouldn't have. Her mind had already been made up and her next plan set into action.

~o0o~

_September 15, 2008_

"_A refill?" the bartender asks, taking my empty glass. _

_I glance at the clock behind the counter. It's only two. She won't be home yet._

"_Sure." I nod. _

"_Bad day? I saw on the news what happened." He glances conspicuously at the brown box on the stool next to me._

_I shrug my shoulders. "It's just a job and we knew …" I correct myself. "I knew it was coming. It was just a matter of when. But the hard part is still to come. Today has the potential to turn into the worst day of my life." I smile tiredly and he nods in understanding. _

"_Well, I hope it works out. She might surprise you." I laugh, noticing his gold wedding band, his round middle and the washed out dish towel he swings over his shoulder. He's nearly grey, and judging from the scars and calluses on his hands, he's done his share of manual labor, honest labor._

_Nothing that I've ever done can be described as honest, but that's about to change._

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**8.**

2007

When I reached the office that day, any remnants of remorse or regret had left me. In a good mood at the thought that I'd finally gotten what I wanted, dead certain that we would be together after what had transpired the night before, I told my driver to take the day off and walked to the office in the August heat.

Around eleven, I called her desk and got her voicemail. By twelve I went up to her floor and found her desk empty. I asked the girl in the cubicle next to her whether she had any clue about where Isabella might be and was told that she hadn't come in yet.

I wasn't too concerned. Not yet.

"Mr. Cullen?" I heard a woman's voice calling after me as I was about storm out of there. "I'm sorry," she said, out of breath and flushed when she reached me. "I'm Shelly Cope, Mr. Black's secretary." I hadn't noticed her before on my trips to see Isabella. In her mid-fifties and with hefty hips, I admitted I would've never acknowledged her existence before. "I know you're friends with Ms. Swan and usually spent lunch with her, so I thought I should tell you. She called in sick today."

"Thank you," I said with a sincere smile. "Thanks for letting me know."

"Sure. No problem."

I turned to get back to my office and called her on her cell phone. She didn't pick up. The first time I got her voicemail, I left only a short message and went right back to work. For a Friday in the end of summer, a time when things usually slowed down, it turned out to be a busy day and so I focused what was in front of me.

Suspicions, doubts and worries only seeped in when I got home that night around ten and she still hadn't called me back. I caller her number again and again with the same disappointing result as in the afternoon. In the process I must have left more than one message. Around midnight, her voice mail was full.

The following night, in fact the whole week, went down in the chronicles of my life as the most restless one. It was contrary to my nature to worry excessively. School, competition, and expectations at work – nothing had ever disturbed my cool. I analyzed, assessed the situation and the players in the game, and planned my next move. I always focused on getting what I found to be the most desirable outcome. But I couldn't figure out anything when it came to Bella. There were too many variables and therefore too many possible outcomes.

I only wanted one outcome.

I should've been dead tired after not having slept the night before, yet I couldn't sit still for more than ten minutes at a time, never mind falling asleep. So I walked from room to room in my apartment, agonizing over why she wouldn't pick up the phone, contemplating seriously whether and how much I'd fucked up the night before, replaying the events of the past forty-eight hours in slow motion. The rational part of my brain tried to reason that I was overreacting, that maybe she'd just call me next day and everything would be fine, but it didn't calm me down.

I needed to do something.

At four AM, I called an old friend of mine who'd gotten pinched by the Feds a while back for hacking into a major bank's computer system, offering to pay him way too much money to get Charles Swan's unlisted home phone number, figuring I'd have a chance of catching her at home.

Pacing back and forth in my living room, waiting for the guy to call me back, I called Jasper in the middle of the night.

He picked up on the first ring. "Cullen, if this is about a trade – hang up now."

"What? No. Where're you anyway?"

"At a bar." I heard music in the background and the muffled sound of people talking. "What is it then?"

"Can you forward me Alice's number?"

"Sure. But she left for Paris…ummm…about ten hours ago. She said something about roaming charges killing her, and that she usually gets another phone once she arrives, so I'm not sure you're going to reach her for…I don't know…at least a week?"

"Forget it. Forward me her new number once she calls you later today."

"I'm not sure she will."

"Why wouldn't she?"

"Dude, Cullen … that's not us." He paused for a second. "It's definitely not _her_. What's the big fucking rush anyway?" he asked, sounding annoyed.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?" I heard him snicker. "Did you fuck up with Isabella? Is your past coming to bite you in the ass?" He laughed.

The old me would've told him to shut the fuck up, but right at the point, my nerves were fried and I acted out of character, admitting my personal fiasco to Jasper.

"Yes …fuck … I don't know … maybe?"

"Relax, I'm sure she'll be in the office on Monday."

"No. Today was her last day. She called in sick."

"Try her apartment tomorrow?"

"Never mind," I said, hanging up, realizing Jasper suggestions were of no use to me so long as I didn't want to share more information with him.

He nevertheless called me back two minutes later.

"Yes?" I answered, not sure whether to be annoyed or hopeful yet.

"Listen, Cullen. I'm forwarding you Alice's regular number for now. I can't guarantee she'll pick up. Like I said, she left town and maybe she even left her phone here. She also has this thing about not picking up numbers she doesn't recognize…anyway. I'll call her too and sent her an e-mail."

"Thanks," I said after a pause.

"You're welcome, asshole," he said and hung up. I called the number he texted me five minutes later without much luck. Alice didn't pick up. I called back several times, eventually leaving a message.

I contemplated for a short moment whether Isabella was seriously sick, but then dismissed the thought quickly. What were the chances?

My eyes were tired, my bones hurt and my stomach felt like it was tied in a knot. I couldn't eat or sleep. I despised the fact that I'd let her get under my skin more than anybody before. I didn't know what to do with myself in my apartment that night. I'd always prized living alone in a large space. My smallest bathroom was twice size of the bedroom I'd grown up in. I had an interior designer, famous for his minimalist styling, furnish and decorate the place to keep it open and without clutter. An efficient daily maid service kept the place spotless.

Sitting on my sofa channel surfing with my feet on the stone table in front of me, I remembered Isabella noting over lunch one day that the place looked and felt as if nobody lived in it, and how she couldn't see a trace of me in anything. She was right. I'd wanted it that way. Any art in my apartment was strictly bought with an eye on return investment. No picture or other memorabilia from my past, documenting my life, graced the place. Any graduation certificates were safely stored away in my dad's basement. I hadn't even bothered to buy my own clothes in some time. They fit my size, but they could've belonged to anybody with my measurements.

That night, looking out the large windows facing downtown, the place seemed to only exasperate my worries.

At five AM, I went to the building's gym, which I hadn't used in ages, hoping I'd find sleep once I'd tired myself out even more. No such luck.

By late afternoon on Saturday, my mind spinning in circles from watching CSNBC all day – their so-called specialist in the field of finance sounding borderline crazy and delusional – my hacker friend forwarded me three numbers. One for the Swan's Greenwich residence, one 212 number for their apartment in the city and another one for their house in the Hamptons. I called all three, but only reached personnel, all of them informing me of the same thing: "I'm terribly sorry, but Miss Swan is not in. May I take a message?"

On Sunday, after having dozed off in front of the TV for short intervals, the walls of my apartment were closing in on me and I ran. Three nights without sleep had taken its toll, but I ran anyway, adrenalin pushing my legs to move as if I was prey, hunted down the streets of the city. I circled the reservoir in the Park once, twice and then, when I couldn't run anymore, the stabbing pain in my chest making me buckle over in pain, I took a cab to the ferry station downtown.

Standing along the railing, waiting for the ferry to cross the divide between the old world and the new one, I called my dad to come pick me up from the station. My brain couldn't come up with good enough reasons anymore why she wouldn't have called me back. The only one that made sense was that she'd ditched me. The irony of the only girl I'd ever felt anything for dropping me the night after didn't escape me. I felt beaten at my own game as I watched the downtown skyline shrink. When I turned around to face the nearing ferry station on the other side, I saw my dad standing next to his station wagon in the parking lot, waving his hand at me once in a silent greeting.

Not much had changed in my dad's house. The kitchen still had the same cracked linoleum floor, the cabinets straight from the seventies. At least I found the new sofa I'd bought in the living, but other than that … even my old bedroom that no one used anymore looked exactly the same. I wasn't really surprised. I'd long ago accepted that my dad refused to move on with his life, holding on to past with a tight grip as if it was something to be cherished.

I walked outside on the deck and slouched down into one of the garden chairs – another relic from the past; he'd had them as long as I could remember.

"So what've you been up to, son?" He handed me a can of beer and relaxed into the chair next to me.

"Not much. Work. Do the Newtons' still live there?" I asked, absentmindedly staring at the huge in-ground pool that covered most of the backyard of the house across from us. I'd gone to school with the Newtons' son, and I didn't remember them having enough dough to spring for a luxury like that, never mind that it just didn't look right in the old neighborhood where the backyards were barely big enough for a deck.

"Yeah…" My dad laughed out loud. "They still live there alright."

"Hmmm. I see. When the hell did they invest in that pool?"

"Last summer."

"It's been that long?" I wiped the sweat of my face. I hadn't bothered to come to by old man's house in over a year.

"Well … time flies. I know you're a busy man, Edward. Thanks for the boat by the way."

I remembered the boat I'd bought him at the beginning of the summer. He'd invited me around Memorial Day for a quick trip around the island, but I'd declined, too busy with work. Of course I'd only gotten busier after that. Work and investing time to get a girl who didn't want me, at least not the way I'd wanted her.

"No thanks required, Dad. So … did the Newtons' win the lottery?" I asked with a smile.

"Nah, I don't think so. I'd think I'd have heard about that." He chuckled and took another sip from the can. "You know Karen and the amount of time she spends gossiping. And old Newton is still running the store that sells the sports uniforms for St. Cecilia. If they'd won the lottery, I'm sure he would've closed it down. Heck, once they close the school up next spring, who knows whether he'll be able stay in business."

"They're closing St. Cecilia's?" Not that I really cared. I'd hated the Catholic school in our district. On my mother's insistence, they'd enrolled me there for primary school. She'd thought the public one was too rough for a kid like me, scrawny and small. Dad had always told her that I was tough enough and that I would be a-okay at the public school. Turned out he was right. By the time I was old enough to go to high school, my dad's shifts had been cut and he couldn't afford to send me to St. Cecilia's anymore. The public high school worked out just fine. I survived and graduated top of my class. Maybe the nuns had contributed to my academic success, but my survival skills were purely instinct.

"Yeah, the diocese lost a lot of money from all the scandals, so they're closing the schools that don't bring in enough cash. I guess they can't afford to run them no more."

"Hmmm…I see. So did Mike finally get successful with one of his schemes? How did they pay for that fucking humongous pool?" The eyesore made out of shiny tiles and the smell of chlorine bugged me.

Carlisle laughed out loud, as I shook my head, before draining the beer. "That'll be the day when that boy actually makes money off his schemes instead of costing his dad more." He looked at me with amusement. "No. My guess is they did what everyone else around here did, now that they've discovered that their homes are worth way more than they paid for them – they took out a home equity loan or whatever it's called. Some little cockamamie idiot in a cheap suit tried to sell me one of those too, but it's been five years since I wrote the last check for this house to the bank, and I'm done writing checks to the bank."

"Well, good luck paying it back. Still can't fathom how these shacks are worth a cent more than they were a year ago."

"Well, according to the banks, they are. Half the people on the block got extra loans for their houses. Aro took another mortgage out too. His wife got cancer and the health insurance didn't want to cover experimental treatments or something."

"Shit. How's he been holding up?" I remembered old Aro and his wife. I'd sometimes spent the nights at their house when mom first had gotten sick, but now I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen them. Years had gone by and I'd barely ever made it back there.

"He's doing okay, I guess. She seems to be getting better and he's going into early retirement next month."

"If you need money, you can always come to me dad, you know that, right?" The minute I'd started making money, I'd tried to pay Carlisle back for all the years he'd supported me, but he wouldn't hear of it. I resorted to sending him gifts that were non-refundable.

"I know son, I know. I don't need much these days. And you already bought me the car, the boat…" He took a sip of the beer and eyed me carefully. "So when am I going to meet the girl?"

"What?" I tried my best to feign ignorance, but he'd always been able to see things that evaded everybody else, even the nuns in school, who'd called me a stone-faced liar when I was eight.

"Don't play dumb with me…something's up and judging by this strange look on your face, you've finally met a girl you like."

"Maybe." I shrugged my shoulders, trying to play it off, as it was nothing, like the fact I hadn't been able to talk to her since that night weighed on me heavy and steadfast, like a lead blanket.

"What do ya mean, maybe? You either have or you haven't, for Pete's sake," he huffed in exasperation.

"Yeah, Dad. Okay. You're right." I slumped back into the chair, the plastic squeaking loudly.

"So what's the matter? She don't like you?"

"I don't know Dad…I don't know."

"Did you mess up?"

"I don't know."

"Well, fix it!"

"It's not that simple." I got up to toss the empty beer can into the garbage bin in the kitchen and returned with two new ones.

We sipped two more beers in silence before I got up and returned to the city. My trip to the old country provided a small reprieve, a distraction from my own worries, and a glance at real life troubles instead of my own silly ones. Even I recognized that though it stung like a bitch that she hadn't called, it wasn't the end of the world. Some part of me possibly still had hope that this was just a fluke, a miscommunication and not some concerted effort to break off all contact with me.

I couldn't shake my melancholy though as I crawled back to my apartment. Unlike the other nights, I'd accepted that I couldn't accomplish anything further, so I took a double dose of Ambien and went to sleep. It barely helped. Drugs only helped so much when my mind was still running in a circle, wondering. By five AM the next morning, I was up again.

At nine-fifteen I promptly called the front desk at Random House. The lady who'd picked up on the other end, despite my best efforts to charm her, said she couldn't deny or confirm whether an Isabella Swan worked there. I bothered her long enough to transfer me to company's HR department. Some anal sounding guy informed that without a signed consent form in front of him authorizing such disclosure he couldn't help me. I was tempted to find the appropriate form and fake her signature, but then decided against it. Around four-thirty that day, I rushed out of the office and waited in my car in front of the main entrance of Random House.

I never saw her coming out of the building that day, or any other day of that week.

When Labor Day rolled around, a week later, I was a wreck and my worries about her had turned to bitter anger. I was furious with her for making me feel this way, so beside myself that I barely felt like myself anymore, and for walking into my life and then leaving so abruptly. On occasion, when I was stewing about it a bit too long and hard, I wanted to punch holes into the walls of my apartment, throw my computer screen out the window, or yell at Jessica when she asked me what I wanted for lunch. I didn't, though. My mask of self-control slipped occasionally, but never long enough to inflict any actually damage. To calm down, I popped the Xanaxs Jasper had slipped me when I'd run into him on the elevator and mixed them with a good dose of scotch each night.

As much as I hated to admit it, I'd run out of avenues to contact her and the feeling of helplessness didn't bode well with me. I didn't have Jake's number and even if I did, I wasn't sure he'd have helped me. The only people I'd ever reached at the Swan's residences were the maids or assistants. I'd almost given up on getting a call from Alice. She appeared to have vanished right around the same time Bella had. Jasper tried calling Alice, but she was as responsive to his calls and messages as she was to the ones I'd left for her. So it caught me off guard when Alice's number finally flashed on my screen and it almost took me three rings to pick up.

"Alice?"

"Yeah, it's me. Sorry for not calling back earlier. I was in Europe for business and just got back today." It occurred to me then that though we'd hung out many times of the summer, I knew nothing about her, not even what she did for a living. "Your message said something about not being able to reach Bella. I tried calling her about an hour ago, but she didn't pick up." I could feel my stomach clench at the thought that something had happened to her. It seemed like the only reasonable explanation of why she wouldn't pick up Alice's call.

"Do you think…?" I didn't dare say it.

"Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. I called her dad's place and spoke to her mom. Bella moved into her new apartment last Sunday – the one she shares with Kate. And she'll start working for her dad's firm this week. I'm no—"

"She's going work for her father? Are you sure? When did that happen?"

"Yeah, I was as stunned as you are when I found out. For as long as I've known her she never wanted to work for him. I know he always pressured her. I guess the business is sort of a family legacy. Anyway … the week before I left for Paris, completely out of the blue, I heard about it from Kate out of all people – who I barely speak to. When I confronted Bella about it, she was kind of evasive and mumbled something about how it's a good opportunity to learn something. Beats me why she changed her mind ... I think the more likely scenario is that her dad pulled the guilt card."

"Where did she move to?"

"Edward, you have to trust me here – if I had the address, I'd give it to you. Bella never forwarded me the actual address, and I think they only signed the lease shortly before they moved in or so. When I talked to Renee, her mom, she'd already popped her daily dose of Valium and possibly three martinis to flush them down. I tried to fish for the information, but all I could decipher was that it is somewhere downtown and that Riley was back because Renee wouldn't shut up about some necklace he'd gotten her as a gift from Chiapas." She sighed.

"Is she—"

"Is she with Riley? Yeah, most likely. I mean, they were dating on and off during the past three years or so. I'm assuming she's – for now at least – back with him," Alice casually said.

My hands balled up into fist on their own volition and before I could stop it, I'd punched dent into the refrigerator.

"Edward? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I murmured.

"Listen, if you're done with this shit and don't want to deal with it anymore, I don't blame you. God knows I would've given up already. But if you haven't – it's Bella's birthday this week and I'm hosting her birthday party next Wednesday. I'd volunteered to do this before she found her own apartment. I want you to come."

"Is he going to be there as well?"

"I'd be lying if I told you I didn't think so. But please, promise me think about it. If nothing else … maybe you can talk to her?"

"Why are you helping me?" I asked wearily. "You barely know me. She's your best friend and she obviously doesn't want to see me. For all you know, I screwed up and she's right to never want to see me again."

"Did you?"

I thought about it for a moment, but other than not saying no to her, I really couldn't come up with something. "No…I don't think so. But she made her choice."

"Look…I'm not going to pretend I know everything. I suck at relationships. I run the second I sense trouble and try not to get attached. There're few people in my life I'd call friends. Bella is one of the few. I'm helping you because she's my best friend and … and because when she was with you she seemed … I don't know … alive … happy?"

I didn't know what to say and so I said the only thing I could.

"Alice?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

"You're welcome. Tell Jasper when you see him, I'll call him soon."

"Why don't you just tell him yourself? I thought you guys hung out more than Bella and I ever did."

"I highly doubt that. Besides, like I said, I run at the first sign of trouble. And we both know Jasper is trouble."

"I see. In that case, I'll let him know… he'll hear from you eventually?"

"Yeah. Sounds about right."

I hung up the phone feeling worse than before. I felt defeated.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. I'd love to hear what you think about the story…**


	10. Chapter 10

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**9.**

2007

My attendance at Alice's party was a foregone conclusion. I knew I couldn't pass up the opportunity to see her, irrespective of how much her disappearance act had wounded my pride.

At that point, I was practically itching for a confrontation with her. I reviled what she'd reduced me to, and the fact that some little douche kid had taken something I'd considered legitimately mine made the bile rise from my stomach leaving a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Riley, for all I cared, could've been the most decent and affable guy on the planet who'd only seized what was freely offered, and I would've still hated his guts. The fact that he turned out to be a spoiled bastard, devoid of redeemable qualities, really didn't matter to me at first. It was just an added bonus.

What I hadn't figured out was what exactly I planned to accomplish by seeing her again. I wasn't seeking closure –some futile attempt to wrap what had transpired between us up into a neat little package, which could be filed away as a past accident. I, for sure, wasn't ready for that, and I highly doubted whether I'd ever be. I also wasn't delusional enough to think that we'd clear the air and some happily ever after tale was in the cards next. Things were too screwed up for that. Secretly though, maybe I did hope she'd realize that she'd made a mistake.

I didn't bother with any meds that day – a mistake that came with a nice price tag attached. Instead I attempted to squelch the feeling of anxiety and anger I hadn't been able to shake by going for a long run along the East River thinking that the release of some stored up adrenaline would help; it was in vain. By the time I headed over to Alice's place around eight I was wound up tighter than a two-dollar watch. My stomach was in a knot and my temper barely contained. I yelled at my driver for not stepping on the gas at an approaching yellow traffic light and nearly knocked a delivery boy on a bicycle over as I shoved open the car door without bothering to look first.

Alice must have noticed my foul mood when she greeted me, dressed in a demure blue cocktail dress, accessorized with a pearl necklace, and her hair tamed into a bun.

"Good evening, Edward." She kissed me on both cheeks and pulled me into her apartment. "Our birthday girl is here already," she said in a hushed tone, her arm interlacing with mine. "I've to warn you though. Riley is here with her. And yes, they very much look like they're together." She turned to inspect me for a peculiarly long moment. "On that note, the furniture is borrowed from the storage container of a client of mine…just in case you think you need to smash something up." It was then that I noticed I was gripping her arm tightly.

I chuckled. "I'll be fine." I let go of her and followed her into the living room.

Her apartment, much like Alice herself, had been transformed into something conventional, trite even. Like a yuppie couple with an average, commercial taste had moved in overnight. Several antique-looking pieces of furniture were strewn around the space that previously had none. A large sofa, several armchairs together with some random plants, mirrors and paintings completed the oddly homey look. Suddenly the austere condition before the mini-remodeling project seemed preferable. A white clothed table with two bartenders behind it was stationed in the corner in front of the open kitchen and some waiters were serving hors d'oeuvres.

I glanced around the room, immediately searching for Isabella. I didn't see her anywhere.

The crowd in attendance had changed just like the furniture. Instead of strung-out drunk misfits, expats and girls dressed in skimpy outfits, the place was swamped with young professionals in casual business attire mingling in groups of three or four, sipping wine and cocktails out of glasses. If it wasn't for the absence of anybody over the age of thirty-five, you could've almost mistaken the party for a firm event. Without another word, Alice and I walked over to the bartenders to get a drink.

"She must be in the bathroom," she murmured, downing a shot of vodka. "God, I hate all her friends. This will be the first and last time I'm doing this."

"Where do you guys know each other from, again?" I couldn't remember either of them having ever mentioned how they'd come to know each other. I only knew Alice was two years older than Bella and worked as an art dealer of sorts. I'd always assumed they'd grown up with the same circle of friends.

"Our mothers were best friends when we were little. Before my mother went off the deep end … when she still had friends." The tone of her voice was flat like she wasn't taking about her mother, but some person whose demise she'd read about in the newspaper.

"What happened?"

"She died. OD'ed, to be precise." She turned around to order another drink.

"I'm sorry?" I offered, not sure whether the sentiment was wanted.

"Don't be. I'm not. She was in and out of rehab so many times … the constant fighting with my grandmother about money. In the end, I just wanted it to be over. There were so many relapses … times when she almost died. Sometimes it almost seemed like she wanted to die. The first time I called 9-1-1 I was five. When it finally did happen, it was a shock…but also a relief. Not sure that makes sense."

"What was it?"

"What she OD'ed on?"

I nodded.

"Heroin is what killed her. But there wasn't a drug – illegal or legal – that wasn't in her system when they found her. She was alone and broke in a motel room upstate. Nobody but my grandmother and I attended funeral. Most of the people from when my mother was still well enough to maintain the socially acceptable façade of a functioning addict had already started to avoid her and me." An odd, almost bitter sounding laugh escaped her. "Particularly after nearly all of the trust fund was depleted. Bella never did. We always kept in touch."

Alice Brandon was even better at maintaining complete detachment than I was, I noticed with no small amount of admiration. She was standing leisurely, cocktail glass in one hand and the other propped on the table next to me. On her face not a trace of emotion.

"And that, by the way, is Riley." She nodded into the direction of a tall guy with tussled brown hair who was talking animatedly to a tall blonde. She was giggling profusely, apparently amused by whatever story he was telling her. "The girl who is so obviously besotted with him is Kate, Bella's roommate," Alice explained further with a sneer on her face as she stared at the girl.

I took a closer look to gage my opponent. His skin was tanned, which made his blue eyes stand out. His clothing looked casual – an untucked white shirt with a seersucker jacket above – like he'd just returned from a quick sailing trip, yet formal enough to count as office attire. He stood at the other end of the room flanked by two pretty girls with a wine glass in his hand smiling at them. Altogether not an entirely repulsive figure I had to admit and it seemed he was popular with the opposite sex.

"What a tool," I muttered, inhaling my whiskey soda and getting a refill.

"Oh, he so is."

"What's his deal?" I asked, as Riley turned to look at Alice and raised his glass to her in greeting. An impeccably polite smile ghosted her lips for a brief moment.

"Parents are loaded with ambitions to push their spawn into political office. It's the last unaccomplished goal from a family that has everything. They tried with his older brother first, but that one was smart and balked. To make sure his parents would leave him alone, he then married a girlfriend twice divorced with a father who's not only connected, but who also served time on a RICO violation. Gotta give him props for that, I guess. A career in politics is out of the question for him after that liaison. So their parents switched gears and now their money is on Riley, who seems to be eager and more than willing. He'll start law school next year."

"I see." The more I learned about Riley, the less I liked him. Judging by Alice's story, his humanitarian efforts were a neat little resume filler, as I'd already suspected. In my experience, very few people were truly ever motivated by altruism. Most had other agendas, and Riley's modus operandi was to be liked and then elected. How Bella never saw his shtick for what it was baffled me.

"Edward, what's in the parcel that was delivered this afternoon?" Alice asked just as she walked into the room. I stared at her and didn't answer Alice's question. Isabella looked paler than usual, hinting at a lack of sleep, but that might have been my imagination playing a trick on me. It could've been just as easily the light pink dress she was wearing hanging loosely over her narrow shoulders that was accentuating the tone of her skin. "A photograph or a painting?"

"A painting," I answered absentmindedly as I watched Isabella move to chat briefly with a guy I recognized to be Seth. She hadn't spotted me yet.

"I see."

"Alice?"

"Mmm."

"Did you tell her you invited me?" As I asked the question, Isabella looked up and saw me.

"No," I heard Alice say before she walked away.

For a second when our eyes met, Isabella lost her composure. Her shoulders sank and a line began forming between her brows. After a slow inhale, she righted them, said something to Seth and starting walking toward me.

"Hi." She stood in front of me, a smile one her lips and her posture perfect, except for her hands, which were nervously grasping her elbows. "I'm glad you could make it," she said as if she'd been expecting me, her voice sounding formal and put-on.

"You don't have to lie, you know." I stared at her. She blinked and looked away.

"Why would I?" She shrugged her shoulders, a futile attempt at acting impervious to my comment. Her eyes never meeting mine gave her away.

"Alice invited me. I'm certain you aren't glad to see me here …" I motioned with my glass in my hand around the room "… while you're celebrating your birthday with your friends and, most importantly, your boyfriend." I paused for a second, trying to get her to look at me. "But I don't mean to be rude, so happy birthday, Bella!" I raised my glass to her.

"It doesn't have to be that way," she said in a controlled voice, her chin raised, but her gaze focused somewhere in the distance behind me.

"And what way would that be?"

"We could be friends."

"Was that your plan?" I laughed. "Friends? Really? Is that what we are …or were?" I scoffed, narrowing my eyes at her. Her forced calm angered me. "Tell me something, Bella, would your boyfriend approve of our friendship? Were you with him already the last time you had too much to drink and hung out with me, your friend?" I challenged, not curious about her answer, but more so to see whether I could get any genuine reaction out of her.

"I told you long ago I was seeing someone and you don't…" She turned paler than she'd been before, a grimace on her face forming. "…have to be so…crude," she whispered.

I tore my eyes away from her and glanced over her shoulder at the object of my ire, though at that point I wasn't sure which one of them I hated more –him or her. Behind her back, Riley was busy whispering something into another girl's ear, his mouth dangerously close to her skin.

"Look, Edward, I'm sorry. You're right to be mad. I should've called. I should've …" A long sigh escaped her as she met my eyes. "What happened that night … I shouldn't have. I made a mistake, okay? Riley and I … we make sense," she pleaded. I understood her words perfectly well, yet none of what she said made sense to me.

"What exactly do you mean by that?" She looked away again, this time turning pink. And then it registered, I finally figured it out, understood why she wasn't with me, but with Riley. Or so at least I thought. It wasn't really about a lack for attraction. It was because I wasn't part of her world and no matter how far I'd make it, I'd never fully be. I should've recognized it before, but nobody – not my snotty classmates at Princeton or Columbia, or the people I worked for – had ever reminded me in such unqualified terms that I didn't belong, that I was an outsider still and would remain so for the foreseeable future.

"Never mind." I shook my head and placed my glass on the table behind me. I'd heard and seen enough for one night. "I hope you're happy," I said and started walking away from her.

"Edward, wait, please." I heard her say, but didn't turn around to look at her.

I glanced in Alice's direction as I made my way out of the room. She shot me an apologetic look. Honoring her plea about the furniture, I stormed out the door and down the stairs.

The first cool breeze signaling the end of summer hit me as I reached the street. I started walking up Lafayette, passed Astor and down Third until I reached my building, only stopping at a deli to buy a pack of cigarettes.

The ding of the elevator as it reached my floor woke me out of my trance-like state. Staring down the dark empty hallway, the realization of what the words we'd exchanged meant hit me. It was the end. No matter what, I would no longer run after her or make any attempt to contact her. I was done. She'd made her bed and I hoped, for her sake, she'd sleep comfortably in it.

Lighting a cigarette and pouring a scotch, the reflection of my own face in the mirror above the bar console caught my attention. I loathed what I saw. I couldn't bear to see what I'd become – some pathetic loser reduced to anxiety meds and booze by a little girl. Without much thought, I threw the heavy crystal glass into the mirror with force, shattering the mirror and the cordial glass into pieces. A small reprieve swept over me as splinter struck my face. Once I was on a roll, I continued. The rest of the glasses, the crystal decanters, another mirror, the TV…anything with a reflecting surface that caught my eye bore my rage that night.

When I was done, the apartment sufficiently smashed up and my hands bloody, I laid down on my terrace staring at the skyline, working on banishing any image, any memory I had of her, out of my brain. I got up from my spot on the chaise lounge only when the sun began to rise. I walked into the bathroom, inspected the damage, tossed any medication left in the medicine cabinet into the toilet, cleaned up and went to work.

That first day, it took me no small amount of effort to maintain my newly acquired calm. The second day, it got easier. A week later, when I received a handwritten thank you note in an unstamped envelope from her at my home, I'd successfully finished building up a wall to keep anything and anybody a safe distance away.

I read her note and quickly tossed it in the trash.

It was too little too late.

In the end though, no human being with a working brain and some hope left to find some measure of happiness could maintain a wall like that forever. It took too much effort. I figured it out eventually. The people you met, the relationships you developed, the love and maybe even more so – the disappointment you experienced always stayed with you. It was just a matter of time when those sentiments, those memories were pushed back into your present consciousness once more. Sometimes the words of someone else brought you back to a time and place you wanted to forget desperately. The smell, the sight of an unchanged building, or a song could trigger your memory. You could push the recollections back behind the wall for a little while to keep them at bay, but a small piece in the wall you'd built up so carefully crumbled in the process creating a crack. The structure was unstable after that.

Of course when I got the note, I was still convinced I could maintain my distance. Unbeknownst to me, the note left a small crack. The smell of her stationary and her words lingered even after I'd tossed the trash down the shoot in the hallway. I couldn't deal with the memories I had of her yet, much less the girl herself.

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**Thank you for reading.**


	11. Chapter 11

**Nowforruin agreed to beta this. THANK you. **

**For Kisvakondok.**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

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**10.**

2007

Three weeks after the party, sometime around the end of September, I was back to my old routine, or so at least I thought. A more accurate description might have been that I'd learned to cope.

Staying alone in my apartment for extended periods of time still made me think too much, so I avoided it. Fortunately I was never short of work during the last weeks of the boom and most days I could scavenge up enough work to keep me busy at the office for fifteen to seventeen hours, leaving only enough time to go home to sleep and change. It wasn't uncommon for me to be at the office on Saturdays and occasionally on Sundays too. On one such Saturday, I ran into Jasper Whitlock on my way to the office.

"What's up, Cullen?" He was standing in his usual spot near the entrance, cigarette and cup of coffee in hand. I hadn't seen him since our encounter in the elevator shortly after Bella had dropped out of sight and I'd been a wreck.

"Not much. You look like shit, Whitlock," I noted, his appearance worse than usual after a night in some bar or strip club. I expected the unwashed hair and the three days worth of stubble in his face, but I'd never seen him in clothes as crumbled and dirty as that before. If he hadn't greeted me, I'd have been tempted to toss a coin in his coffee cup and keep on walking.

I hoped for his sake the head of his division hadn't made the decision to come to the office over the weekend. Maria, his boss, ran a tight ship, mostly by instilling fear, often threatening to put their asses out on the street if they didn't perform. She'd be sure to strike the fear of God into him if she caught him looking like that in the office. Not that I would've blamed her. The way I saw it there was no other way, particularly for a woman, to rein in the testosterone fueled crowd she oversaw. They would have ignored her orders and done whatever they wanted. I always gave her credit for managing them as well as she did.

"Gee, thanks." Jasper took a sip from the blue cup with the Grecian design on it and then looked at me with a grimace on his face. I wasn't sure whether it was my comment or the cheap coffee that had caused the expression on his face, so I ignored it.

"I forgot to tell you, Alice said she'd call you. Did she?" I lit a cigarette and leaned against the dark glass walls encircling the lobby.

"Yeah, we're hanging out tonight. You should come. One of her clients is hosting a party at a hotel in TriBeCa. I'll send you the address."

"I got it already from Alice. Thanks, but I'm not sure whether I can make it." I'd gotten the invite to the soiree from Alice the week before. A director for whom Alice had bought an early De Kooning was hosting it. I'd stayed in touch with her loosely, mostly via e-mail, but never attended any of the events she invited me to.

"Don't worry; your girl won't be there. Alice told me she's left the city for the weekend."

"Why would I worry?" I snapped, irritated more with myself than with his comment; my best efforts to maintain the appearance of reserve were seemingly ineffective.

"Never mind, Cullen. Come or don't." He killed his cigarette on the wall and started walking off.

"Jasper!" I called, as he was about to enter the building.

"Yeah?"

"You should go home and take a shower. In case Maria is in."

"I don't have the time. I called in sick twice this week. Stuff's piled up on my desk and Maria is at a spa in Connecticut with one of her bitches."

"Sick, huh?" Nursing a hangover with a Mojito, more likely I was convinced back then. I hadn't figured out yet how dangerous his habits had become.

"What can I say, Cullen? I have a life. You should give it a try sometime."

I shrugged my shoulders as he walked away.

By eight, my idle fingers tapping a steady beat on my empty desk, I decided to take Alice up on her invitation and walked outside to catch a cab. Since I knew Bella wouldn't be there, going out was as good a distraction as any.

I entered the bar of the downtown hotel and scanned the masses for familiar faces. I found Alice quickly, perched on a bar stool engrossed in a conversation with a blonde.

"What's up?" I greeted her.

"Edward!" she said loudly, while hugging me with a bit too much enthusiasm. "I'm so glad you could finally make it to something I invited you to!"

"I'm sorry. I've been busy."

"I hear ya. So am I and this is sort of work for me as well."

"Did Jasper show up yet?"

"Nope. I'm not certain he'll come. He's either late or doesn't show at all lately."

"That's odd."

"Not really. I'll tell you about it later." She pushed her drink on the counter. "I'm being rude. This is Tanya," she said, motioning to the blonde next to her.

"Hi, how're you? Edward," I introduced myself, giving her a fleeting glance, my appetite for the opposite sex still lacking; perhaps another sign that I was still living in denial.

"Hey. Nice to meet you, Edward."

"I gotta go say 'hi' to someone, possibly reel in another client. I'll be back," Alice muttered, already stepping away from her seat, leaving me alone with her friend.

"So … how do you know Alice?" I heard the girl ask, sliding onto Alice's stool.

"A friend of a friend, I guess." I ordered a drink. "And you?" I asked, not really caring about the response.

"I'm her guru."

I laughed at her crank comment, giving her another glance.

"I knew I'd get a reaction out of you with that." She giggled lightheartedly. I had to admit, she was cute. Sexy even. Her long hair hung loosely around her shoulders and the golden tone of her skin suggested she'd spent the better part of the summer at the beach instead of an office. "I'm her yoga teacher actually."

"I see." A tattoo adorned her upper arm, her low cut flowery blouse revealed just the right amount of skin and her legs were long and tanned. Yoga teacher fit the bill, not that I'd ever known any before.

"What do you do? For a living, I mean."

"What do you think?" I wasn't sure I wanted the conversation to go anywhere.

"You want me to guess?" she asked with a bit of an incredulous expression on her face.

I didn't answer. Small talk grew stale fast and the guessing game was on average the more entertaining part.

"Lawyer?"

"Too much work and not enough pay."

"Accountant?"

"Do I look that boring?" She inspected me carefully for a second. "I work for an investment bank," I admitted, cutting to the chase.

"Ah, I see. A gambler of sorts … with other people's money." She wrinkled her nose in mock distaste. "Go figure."

"Should I be offended?"

"Are you? I hadn't figured you for the sensitive type."

"No. Not really."

"Good."

"So how do you really make a living?"

"Are you suggesting I'm moonlighting in another profession?" She winked at me.

"No. I'm just curious…"

"How the other half lives?" The girl did start to amuse me.

"I might be more familiar with that than you think." I took a sip of my drink. "No, I'm just not sure how anybody makes a living teaching people to stretch into unnatural poses."

"That's not all yoga is. And yes, for your information, I get by. I've got a fair number of students and give enough private instructions to keep me afloat." She shrugged her shoulders, seemingly not a care in the world. It was kind of refreshing how unaffected she seemed by the daily grind that gave so many city dwellers a nervous twitch. Conversation flowed easily after that and before I knew it, it was late.

I was contemplating whether or not to ditch the place after a trip to the restroom, when Alice pulled me to the side.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" She walked ahead of me out into the lobby. I knew payback would be due eventually, so I braced myself for questions about Jasper.

"Yeah, sure," I answered reluctantly. I doubted I could be of any real help to her. After all, I knew very little about Whitlock, despite the fact that we'd worked for the same firm for nearly four years at that point and had spent plenty a night together entertaining clients. Born in Texas, he liked to party hard, had some other vices and lived in studio in the East Village. Finding out more would only be trouble.

"Did you get Bella's thank you note for her birthday present?"

"What?" She'd me caught off guard and I stumbled.

"Oh, come on. You must've known she'd tell me?"

"I got it. So what?"

"Are you going to call her?"

"No. I don't see why."

Alice sighed and looked at the floor for a second before pinning me down with her stare. "I know you have reasons not to call her, one of them certainly being that she's with someone else by choice. I understand that. I just …" She chewed on the inside of her cheek for a minute, seemingly lost in thought, before continuing, "I didn't think you'd give up that easily. Honestly … I thought you were her friend. She could use one right about now, you know?"

"You're her friend," I pointed out. She stared at me and didn't say anything else. The thought alone of responding to her note made me feel weak. I wasn't ready for that.

"Look, I have to work a lot lately. I'm not always around. With my business, it's either feast or famine. Right now people are buying art, and I live off the commission for brokering deals. I had to fly to London twice last week alone. I have a feeling this latest cycle will end soon and I need a cushion. Anyway, she's been kind of depressed, working for her dad––"

"You're barking up the wrong tree, if you think I'd call her to be friends so she can have a shoulder to cry on. It's not happening. I'm done."

"So the talk you had at the party was that bad, huh?" She had a nonchalant expression on her face.

"What do you want me to say? Apparently I don't fit in with her Greenwich, Upper East Side prep school crowd. Her and Riley on the other hand… well, what can I say, they apparently make sense."

"She said that?"

I scoffed at her suggestion that I'd somehow misinterpreted Bella's not so veiled hint.

"I don't believe she said you don't fit in with her crowd and that's why she acted so foolishly. Bella is a lot of things, but she isn't a snob." I looked at her in disbelief. "Look, all her life other people have made most of her decisions for her and yeah, she let them, so ultimately she's to blame too. And I know that doesn't excuse her behavior toward you. I don't know how to explain it … except, I think if you were a starving artist or social worker, she'd be head over heels into you, though your worlds would have possibly never collided and her father most certainly wouldn't approve. You must've misunderstood something."

"I don't care." It wasn't even a lie. I didn't really care what her motivations were anymore.

She sighed and I could tell she was giving up. "What did the note say if you don't mind me asking?"

"I do mind and I don't remember. Ask her. I tossed it."

"Liar. Stop acting like a twelve year old with a fragile ego, Edward. She won't tell me. She only whines and tells me that she tried. That's all I can get out of her." She rolled her eyes at me.

"Tried what?"

"To get in contact with you … tried to fix things, I guess."

"There's nothing to fix, Alice. It's water under the bridge. Let it go."

She raised her hands in resignation. "Fine. Have it your way. Don't hook up with Tanya unless you like her. Promise me?"

"Are you serious?" I'd have been liar if I'd told her the thought hadn't crossed my mind during the last couple of hours while she'd inched closer to me. My drive might have not been what it was before, but I wasn't oblivious to her come-ons. There was no mistaking her small, but orchestrated moves; the way she'd flung her hair over her shoulder revealing more skin, her hands pressing down on her thighs creating the illusion of ample cleavage above and the small intentional touches. And part of me was itching to get laid, to fuck her out of my system if possible.

"Yes." A look of determination had formed on Alice's face. I smirked and started to walk away until she grabbed my shirt, stopping me in my tracks. "She's nice, and you're not over the whole Bella ditching you thing. She deserves someone who'd actually _want_ to be with her, but she's not your type. Not in the long run anyway."

The whole conversation had taken a direction that was even more outside my comfort zone than the topic of Jasper Whitlock might have been.

"Honestly? It's none of your business, Alice. And you introduced us," I seethed through clenched teeth.

"Not for that purpose, obviously." She didn't let go of my shirt and I budged, just to get her off my back. I had no intention of being bound by my promise.

"Okay. Whatever you say. Would that be all?"

"Her birthday gift, did you pick it? If you had someone help you, let me know who. I like to know my competition."

"I picked it," I admitted grudgingly, like somehow telling her that I'd actually made the effort to choose a present for her exposed something she didn't already know.

"Good. I like it. Solid investment if you'd kept it."

"Biggest waste of two hundred grand I've ever spent. I venture to say the Porsche I crashed last summer was a better investment. At least I enjoyed the ride."

Alice just looked at me with a sad expression on her face. I hated it. I would've preferred disgust.

"Did Jasper call you?" I asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yeah, he did. He promised he'd be here any minute. That was about two hours ago. I'm worried about him."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know… he's mixing up his cocktails. Not a good sign." I had no idea what she meant by that.

"Let me know if there's anything I can do to help?" I didn't know what had gotten into me as the words escaped my mouth. "He's always overindulged, but I'm sure you know that. Not showing up for stuff … I don't know, doesn't sound like him."

"Thanks. I'm not sure there's anything you can do." A tear rolled down her cheek all of a sudden, though her voice remained calm. "I fucked up. I got involved … attached somehow." She wiped the tear away quickly, regaining her composure.

"Do you want me to get you a cab?" I offered, not sure what else to do or say.

Five minutes later, I was helping her into a taxi.

"Edward? Are you heading home?" I heard a voice call after me as I walked down the street away from the hotel.

"Yeah." I turned around and saw Tanya standing at the entrance of the hotel.

"Care for company?" She took several confident steps in her high-heeled sandals until she stood next to me.

I didn't answer. We continued side-by-side, smoking and talking. Unlike Isabella, the girl strutting next to me did not need my arm to walk securely. Her poise was a natural trait and not an act.

"So why did you go into banking?" she asked after we'd walked a couple of blocks.

"Easy and quick rewards."

"Really?"

"Appears that way."

"Money is important to you," she stated.

"I'm sure I'm not unique in that respect."

"No, you're right. Hardly. But you're not looking for something more? You don't strike me as a shallow man. Do you _like_ what you're doing?"

I paused, contemplating her question for a moment. I'd always thrived on the energy and the level of stress that came with my job. The mechanics, the analysis that went into making decisions came naturally to me and I never had to work hard at exceeding in any of my tasks.

"I'm good at it," I finally answered.

"I was a good dancer, some would said extremely talented, but my heart wasn't in it." She pulled her hair together into a messy pony tale.

"Your heart wasn't in it, huh?" I chortled. She didn't respond to my taunt.

"Hey, look!" She practically bounced over to a store entrance lit by a cheap blazing neon sign. "We should get a reading." She pointed at the writing above the open door. The sign read 'Psychic Readings, $10.00.' Plastic beaded curtains hid the room behind from view and the stink of incense hung thickly in the air.

"You're kidding, right?"

"No. Come on. Don't you wanna know what your future holds?"

"I already know that. 'You're going to loose ten dollars' is what that woman sitting in there will tell me." I ignored her and kept on walking. She'd officially started to annoy me. Alice was right. She wasn't my type. Not even in the short run.

"You're not much fun, Edward." She pouted, but continued walking by my side. "So who's the girl that broke your heart? I hope she's worth it."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, come on! You're not fooling me." She nudged me with her elbow and I cursed my decision to hang out with a crazy girl who had no sense of boundaries. "I'm a good listener. Just tell me why you're in such a funk."

"It's nothing. I'm fine."

"I think it's clear you're mourning a loss of some sort. A girl was my first guess."

"Clear? You don't know me."

"I don't know a lot, but enough to see that something isn't right. You've misery written all over you. You think nobody can see, but it's blatantly apparent when you take the time to look. Your voice is devoid of passion, like you don't care about anything, and the look in your eyes is kind of distant, blank and dull. Your shoulders are hunched, like you carry the weight of the world on them."

"I see. I think you're full of it."

"You don't _have to_ talk about it. It's just…sometimes it helps?"

"I prefer not to, if you don't mind."

We didn't say much after that and parted ways shortly later. Had I ever been tempted to sleep with her, that desire had evaporated the minute she so much as hinted at Isabella.

Before she jumped into the cab, she threw her arm around my neck and breathed into my ear, "Love and invulnerability cannot coexist in the same space."

I nearly shoved her into the waiting car after that and shut the door the minute she sat down. Hailing the next cab, I checked my BlackBerry for messages from work, almost hoping there was something I needed to do at four AM on a Sunday morning other than sleep.

There were no e-mails. I'd one missed call, no voicemail. Seeing Isabella's name flash on the screen when I checked for the caller ID should've given me some sort of satisfaction, but it didn't. It just made me bitter. Who the hell did she think she was to call me on Saturday night?

I scrolled through my list of contacts quickly and deleted her name from it. I'd still recognize her number unfortunately.

At night in my bed, the words from Bella's letter wouldn't let me find sleep. Of course I remembered the note, down to every single damn word.

_Dear Edward,_

_I thank you for your present. It's perfect and I love it. I know I don't deserve it. I was going to return it you, but Alice said that would be rude. Funny thing is, you probably don't even care for this expression of my gratitude and maybe you were right after all, maybe actions do speak louder and clearer than words, but words are all I have right now._

_I don't know where to start to make this better, to let you know how truly sorry I am. _

_I think of you each time I take a lunch break (because it's not the same without you), each time I take the subway, and each time I forget to say 'please' (which happens more and more these days). I guess you could say I think about you every day, and every day I regret a little more how I let things go so astray. _

_I know you don't want to be friends with me anymore, but some part of me can't give up hope that maybe someday we'll talk again, like we used to all the time._

_I miss you and hope you can forgive me. _

_Yours,_

_Bella_

The valediction made the rest of the letter meaningless to me.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**

**Special thanks to DreamOfTheEndless and IcarusToSun for reading, reviewing and rec'ing this story. I totally owe you and feel flattered.**


	12. Chapter 12

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

**Still for Kisvakondok.**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**11.**

2007

A restless night interrupted by a disturbing dream left me feeling tired and weary the next morning–disturbing because I couldn't figure out why I was scared shitless in it. It didn't make sense. There was no rational explanation for it.

_I was standing near Central Park, the pungent stink of the horses lined up in front of carriages hanging thick in the air and the street bustling with tourists. I stared up at the sky. The sun was no longer at its peak, settling in the west. My heart was beating a mile a minute and my shirt was drenched in sweat, clinging to my skin. I attempted to make a call from my BlackBerry but only got a blank grey screen, so I tossed the thing in the nearest garbage can. The guy from the hot dog stand pulled it out when he was certain I wasn't looking his way. I didn't care. My eyes scanned the surrounding area for a payphone, an obscure relic from another era. My life depended on making a call–that much I knew. I ran across 59__th__ Street, thinking I'd find a phone, almost crashing into a group of Japanese tourists with cameras hanging around their necks. Finally, I spotted a silver box with a blue header on the corner of Sixth Avenue. Standing in front of the old familiar steal box, I emptied my pockets. They hung out like rabbit ears, but no coin fell out. Frantically I started checking my other pockets …_

Before anything got resolved, I woke up.

The prior night's dealings had unsettled me – no two ways about it – and the dream didn't help.

While the chat with Alice had been unnerving, what really bugged me was that I'd turned down the opportunity to hook up with a perfectly nice looking girl. At any other time in my life, I would've reveled in an easy one-night stand. Nothing a girl could've said or done would've stopped me. More often than not, the grating qualities of my conquests only started to bother me when I met them for a second time, possibly in social situations were some form of polite conversation was mandatory.

The night before had been different and my failure to move on was no longer deniable. Wall or no wall, my efforts to revert back to my old self seemed doomed. I could ignore her letters and phone calls, but no matter how hard I tried to be the aloof bastard only interested in his net gain, something was off. I'd lost my game and I didn't like it.

It felt like Isabella had permanent ruined my life, like our short-lived relationship – or whatever you wanted to call it – had inexplicably given me a conscious I'd never had before, and one I didn't care to have. It complicated matters in more ways than one.

Needless to say, I was moodier than usual when Emmett called me around noon.

"Yo, Eddie. I need your help. What're you doin' today?" he asked the minute I'd picked up the phone, not bothering to wait for me to answer.

"I'm busy. What do you want?" I was channel surfing, never watching one program for longer than two minutes, and had no plans for the afternoon. Technically I should have been grateful that Emmett planned on dragging me out of my apartment.

"I'm thinking about buying a small weekend house in Long Island. I need you to come look at the place and tell me whether you think it's worth it."

"I know next to nothing about real estate."

"Dude, just come along and let me know you think, okay?"

"Why don't you take Rose?" I wasn't in the mood for getting stuck in traffic on the LIE.

"It's supposed to be a surprise gift for her."

"Whatever happened to some jewelry?" I sighed in resignation. I knew I couldn't wiggle myself out of that one. He wouldn't stop bugging me until I'd agreed to go.

"I need something different. I'm picking you up in thirty."

He hung up the phone before I could further argue with him. About an hour later I was stuck his new Mercedes in the Midtown Tunnel.

"You look beat, bro," Emmett announced after a long sideways inspection.

"Thanks. You don't look all that hot yourself." He had a nice set of bags underneath his eyes and was on his second can of Red Bull.

"I've been up since five AM. How about you? Workin' too much?"

"I guess so." My knee was bouncing up and down, a sure sign that being trapped in a small space with Emmett with no way to escape was making me apprehensive. Traffic was slowly crawling and there was nothing to do but talk.

"If I give you a check, could you invest some money for me?"

"I'd rather not." Investing for friends and family could get you in hot waters if you lost any of it, and I'd always avoided it. "Why, is the grocery business no longer fruitful?"

"Naah, I was just thinking if there was an easy way to double some money… why not?" He shrugged his shoulders and looked at me with an apologetic grin on this face.

"Double? No way." I laughed at his ignorance.

"Okay, maybe not double…just something extra."

"Open up an e-trading account. I'll let you know what and when to buy and when to sell. But I can't make guarantees."

"Okay. I'll think about it."

It took us altogether three hours to drive to some little shit house in the middle of nowhere with no direct beach access. The place smelled musty with a hint of mothballs and needed to be gutted. No expert needed to reach that conclusion. Paint was peeling everywhere. The basement was full of mouse droppings and the steps to the upstairs bedrooms vibrated when you took a step on them.

"How much do they want for this shithole?" I asked, stepping out onto a mold-covered deck.

"Five hundred grant," Emmett admitted casually while checking his phone. I chuckled and shook my head in disbelief that he'd wasted my afternoon driving out there. "That's the cheapest one I could find. Anything that looks halfway decent around here costs at least a mil, maybe two. It's only for the summer months. I figure I get Jose and his crew to rip out the floors and do the hard labor."

"Great. Hiring unlicensed and illegal labor. Don't tell me more."

"Do me a favor, Mr. Hot-Shot Banker, and just shut the fuck up. Who do you think washes your dishes at the restaurant where you're paying fifty bucks for a pizza?" I could tell by the sound of his voice I was getting to him.

"There's one difference here; I'm not employing the dishwasher. Never mind that. You can't deduct the mortgage for a second home from your taxes. I'm assuming you'll need another one for this, correct?" I replied calmly.

"Yeah, sure. I'm not like you. I don't have that kind of money just sitting in a bank account collecting interest. I got preapproved already. No money down. I know you think this place is a dump, but it's in a prime area. The value can only go up."

"I don't know about that … and no money down? How much are you making these days? On the books, I mean."

"They didn't ask me for any income verification," he answered casually. I knew the whole deal wasn't kosher the minute I'd heard that.

"Ignore me. Stupid question." It also dawned on me that I was requesting information on a subject matter where the old rule of "the less you know the better" applied. "You're buying this for Rose?"

He nodded. "It's quiet and the beach is only five blocks away."

I looked around me. The last store I'd spotted on the way there was a good twenty-minute drive away. There was nothing but nature surrounding the house. Chirping birds, deer, and possibly a squirrel or two were the only neighbors in sight.

"Ain't no way Rose would even like this place. Where would she get her nails done?" I'd never seen Rose without make-up, freshly manicured fingers, and perfectly dyed hair. Heck, I wasn't even certain she was a real blonde. And she wasn't exactly best friends with most of Mother Nature's creatures either, which would without a doubt present a problem if they planned on staying at the house for any significant amount of time. I still remembered that barbeque three years ago where she'd called up the fire department because she thought she'd seen a raccoon near her garbage can. Nobody ever found the fucking animal. Emmett however only rolled his eyes at me. "Look, if you want my advice, don't do it. It's not worth it. That's all I'm going to say."

I held my hands up in resignation. I wasn't in the mood for belaboring the point. At the end of the day, Emmett had always pursued things few people would've approved off. Thankfully he didn't respond, and I was relieved when he started walking back to the car.

"Just out of curiosity," I began when we'd stopped at an Irish bar for burgers on the way back, "did Rose catch you with a stripper again? Or why are you considering buying a second home?"

He huffed as if I'd said something completely out of the realm of possibilities and offensive.

"What? It's not like it never happened before. If you need a place to crash for a night, you are more than welcome to stay at my place. If you are looking to dump bodies though, I'd buy something with water access." I snickered, playing with the label on my beer bottle.

Hardly anybody ever mentioned it out aloud, but Emmett's father had been rumored to be a made man and half of his son's businesses were wedged in the foggy morass that seemed on superficial inspection legal, but when you looked closer it wasn't so clear whether all facets of his trade truly were legit. The lifestyle he maintained, for one, seemed out of whack with the average income for an owner of a small time company buying and selling groceries.

"Don't be such a wise guy." He gave me a good-natured smile as he bit into a chicken wing with a crunch. "The stripper shit … hasn't happened in a while." He sighed before continuing, "Look, Rose and I have been trying to get pregnant for close to a year now. We've tried nearly everything. Well … she did. She's been on hormones non-stop and moody as hell. Last week she suffered another miscarriage. The quack who's been treating her thinks she needs to relax more, so I thought if she could spend sometime away … you know away from the family, her friends, the neighbors … maybe she'd feel better. At least nobody would ask her on a regular basis when we'll finally have a kid. I don't know." He rubbed his face with his hand. "You're right though. I'm not going to do it. It was a stupid idea. And Rose wouldn't like it. Never mind the nails, who would do her hair? I'd take her on a vacation, but I can't leave the business right now, and she says she doesn't want to go without me."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

Emmett waved my comment away with his hand and bit into his burger next. His gut was getting bigger, I'd noticed sitting in the car, and I could see wrinkles settling in permanently on his forehead. He wasn't even thirty yet, but the first signs of aging were visible.

"Don't worry. It's gonna pan out in the end. It has to, right?"

"Sure," I said, though I was less than sure.

"Can I ask you something?" He wiped his greasy fingers on a paper napkin and looked at me with a probing smile on his face.

"Shoot."

"You know Edward, out of all of us, you always were the smartest, most canny motherfucker. I give you that."

"But?"

"I've been thinking, doesn't it get lonely some time?"

"What do you mean?"

"Listen, I get why you wanted to get away. Your mom dying, your dad ... and now, look at you! You have all this cash, the fancy apartment, more pussy than you can possibly consume … and yet, on a Sunday afternoon, you're sitting by yourself in an empty apartment watching CNBC."

"So what?" I leaned back in my seat and crossed my arms over my chest.

"So what? What's the matter with you? Fuck, Edward, I'm not saying get married and have kids. I'm just saying – you're twenty-eight, and you've never even brought a girl home. What the fuck is wrong with you? There's more to life than money, you know."

"Who knew you were so full of wisdom? Where did you figure that shit out? In Philosophy 101? Oh, wait, I forgot!" I slapped my forehead. "You dropped out of community college," I retorted. I just couldn't help it.

"Whatever. I'm just saying…" He shook his head.

"I didn't mean that. I'm sorry. I don't know what's wrong with me lately." I pushed my plate away.

"Is it work?"

"No."

"A girl?"

I exhaled and looked away.

"It didn't work out, huh?"

"You could say that. She's with someone else, but somehow wants to be friends. It's fucked up."

"So?

"What do you mean so?"

"If you want her, go get her. Can't be that fucking hard!"

"What's there that I can do? She's with someone! Are you deaf?"

"You want me to give you advice on this?" He shook his head. Emmett continued before I could respond and tell him that I didn't give two shits, and that he could keep his advice. "Personally, I think being friends has possibilities. Better than not having her in your life at all, right?"

I shrugged my shoulders.

"Look, 'all's fair in love and war' – isn't that what they say? Go figure out a way to get rid of the other guy and then pounce. If you're already friends, chances are she'll come running to you to be consoled."

"I don't care."

"Why? Cause you're too proud to play the game? Did she wound your little ego by not falling on her knees the minute you came calling? Get over it. Either move on or start planning."

He dropped the topic afterward. I dismissed his comments initially as unfeasible and too degrading for my taste.

When I got back home, around eight PM, my BlackBerry started buzzing. It turned out to be a busy trading day in Asia, which kept me occupied until my eyelids were heavy and sleep came easy.

I almost felt refreshed when I got to the office the next day. Unfortunately the rest of the day didn't go so smoothly. During the morning hours I was stuck in a meeting I abhorred and before I could grab something for lunch, Maria called me to ask where Jasper was.

"I have no idea where he'd be. You're his boss, not me."

"He didn't call HR. I know he was here over the weekend. I also know you two occasionally talk. So I thought maybe you could enlighten me why one of my best traders is all of sudden afflicted by some disease that leaves him able to partake in booze, but not in work."

"Beats me. Call him?"

"Why do you think I'm calling you?"

"Who do you think I am? His mother?" I yelled into the dead line. She'd hung up already. Annoyed that I was called to question on Whitlock's spotty attendance record, I picked up the phone and dialed his number.

"Yep," he answered after only one ring.

"Yep? Are you shitting me Whitlock? Get your ass out of bed and to work. You're boss is calling me."

"Shit. Sorry. Fuck."

"Yeah, right."

"I overslept."

"Whatever. Do us both a favor and pick up the fucking phone next time Maria calls!"

"What?" I heard some glass crashing in the background and hung up.

Around three, one of the senior VPs informed me that my attendance was requested at a fundraising dinner at a hotel for some idiot Congressman that night. Truth was, the President of the New York Fed had cancelled his attendance, and so the upper echelons saw no point in attending and sent me in their stead.

On the scale of one to ten – ten being the most boring event to attend – political fundraisers were easily a ten. I loathed going to them more than firm events. The combination of bad food and cheap wine, followed by lackluster speeches from guys conceited enough to believe their run for political office was for the betterment of the country, killed it. It was even worse than the over privileged people paying for a seat at these events thinking that the world would end if their party candidate didn't win.

Call me a cynic, but the way I saw it, no matter who was in office, things stayed the same for the purposes of my employer. I didn't see the point of the near constant flow of cash to political campaigns. Neither party dared to mess with the goose that laid the golden egg – the banks that ensured the flourishing stock market, which in turn made it seem as if the economy was in tip-top shape.

Easy credit and extensive lending fueled the booming real estate market and made sure the Dow moved upward instead of taking a nosedive. Of course there'd be a downside to the scheme, a price to pay … eventually, but nobody bothered to think ahead, beyond the return of their own investment.

To make sure that the shit continued to run smoothly, every time someone so much as whispered the word "regulation", at least ten colleagues in custom-made grey suits were threatening to support the opposition during the next election, warning of the effect on the economy if they restricted lending and how quickly investment would dry up if they couldn't ensure a good return.

_Let's face it – no elected official wants to be the one to blame for a bad economy._

Of course, some regulation possibly could have prevented some of the disaster that followed, the stuff that bit them in the ass as well.

However, the people who ran all those venerable lending and investment institutions didn't see it that way. _They still don't._ They were greedy and getting high on the steam of their own shit. There was always another rule, another law to get rid of, and another favor to ask. So everyone always gave the max contributions.

In a calculated move, I arrived at the hotel late, hoping that they had started the affair already and wouldn't seat me. Unfortunately the Congressman, the guest of honor, was also running late, so I got stuck sitting at the bar drinking bad whiskey watching the scene as the who's who of New York society filled the room.

Maybe twenty minutes had passed, and I was looking for an excuse that would explain my early departure, when the Congressman finally made his appearance followed by none other than Riley Lanier. While the older politician worked the crowd of overdressed older women and gentlemen, kissing some hands and shaking others firmly, Riley walked behind him with a smile on his face, nodding at some people he knew and waiting patiently until he was introduced to others by the older statesman.

My guess was that Riley was working on the Congressman's staff in preparation for his own run for office. Judging from his energetic smile, he was enjoying his job. Either that or he was good at faking it. I watched him for a while in shock really, and for a second I worried that Isabella was with him. In a city of eighteen million people, I had to run into him out of all people. I relaxed when I didn't see her anywhere.

"Go figure," I murmured to myself and chucked back my drink.

"Excuse me?" I heard a woman say behind me. "Care for a refill, sir?"

When I turned around to face the bartender, I noticed that a pretty dark-skinned girl with full red lips had replaced the old grumpy guy in his fifties.

"No refill, thanks. What else have you got?" If I wanted to survive this event, I figured I needed a good dose of booze to drown out my surroundings.

"Try this." She pushed a glass of amber liquid in front of me. It didn't taste bad.

Before I could thank the girl, Riley unexpectedly appeared next to me with the same smile plastered on his face he'd worn when he shook the hands of some of the bigger contributors.

"Good evening. For some reason, I think we've met before. Possibly at another fundraiser?"

"I don't think so." I chewed on an ice cube while I inspected him. His suit looked too big on him, I noted with no small amount of satisfaction, and his memory for faces – an important gift for any politician – was evidently lacking. Otherwise he would have been able to associate me with his girlfriend.

"Well, then. I'm Riley Lanier. I'm working for the Congressman and will be part of his re-election campaign next year. Pleased to meet you, and glad you could join us Mr. -?"

"Cullen." I shook his outstretched hand. His grip was firm, but not too firm; a trick he'd probably picked up from his mentor.

"Again, thank you for attending. Is there any area of the upcoming legislative agenda for 2008 you are particularly interested in?" I stared at his blindingly white teeth behind that thousand-watt smile.

"Not really and no need to thank me." His smile faltered for a second.

"I see," he said, his smile slipping back into place. "May I ask what brings you here tonight then?"

"Sure. One of the seniors from my firm couldn't make it, and I was stupid enough to pick up the phone when he called. _Or_ I'm really a fan of the Congressman. You pick."

"Ahhh, I see." He laughed and it seemed genuine. "Well, I hope you'll join us possibly for an after party?"

"I don't think so. I have to get back to work." I was hoping he'd leave it there, but the fool couldn't help himself.

"Too bad. Fundraising dinners tend to be on the dull side, I agree. It would be a much more entertaining event if some of the contributors would bring their mistresses or even their secretaries instead of their wives. But who am I kidding? America's just too Puritan for that. Which means tough luck for us single guys. No woman under the age of fifty or single here tonight." He chuckled. "Well, except for the bartender of course." The guy seriously wiggled his eyebrows at me, before staring with a carnal gleam in his eyes at the girl's ass.

"Right." I finished my drink, grabbed my phone and got ready to leave. I knew I couldn't stand sitting next to the clown for much longer.

"Mr. Cullen?" he called after me casually before I could walk away.

"Edward."

"Edward. If you're not going for that…" He motioned with his drink toward the bartender. "Do you mind if I do?"

"Knock yourself out."

I walked out of the place without bothering with the dinner, jumped into my waiting car, driving straight home. Unwittingly he'd provided some useful ammo. I just hadn't figured out how to use it _yet_.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**

**A/N** – of the unpretentious variety: Many thanks to BellaScotia for pimping my shit! I really, really appreciate it. A big thank you also to DreamOfTheEndless who apparently conned her into reading it and then rec'ing it.

Finally, welcome - to the new readers.

Thx also to IcarusToSun who nominated this tale for the Shimmer Awards and the Eternity Awards under the category: The 'I Can't Believe It's Not Real!' Award & The Fragile Award (Best All Human) respectively.


	13. Chapter 13

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

**Still for Kisvakondok.**

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**12.**

It didn't take me long to figure out what to do with the 411 I had on Riley, and I had no qualms about using it to my advantage–at least not at that point. Regrets only came later.

The first person I enlisted for help was Alice, thinking she'd be a good source of information to figure out the details I needed for the plan to work. Her information would be more reliable than anything a private detective would dig up, I reckoned. She ended up becoming my co-conspirator of sorts, which meant I owed her one more favor after all was said and done.

"Hey, Edward," she answered on first ring when I called her the next day.

"Hey. What are you up to tonight?" I always preferred a one-on-one conversation when possibly damaging information would be exchanged; plus, seeing the reaction to your proposition written on the face of the person sitting across from you generally helped you gage whether you were on the right track.

"I've to meet a client for dinner, but he has to catch his train up to Westchester early. I can meet for drinks around eleven," Alice answered without asking questions.

"Okay. Where?"

"There's a small bar on Grand Street, near my house. Give me a call when you're heading downtown." I hung up the phone and proceeded with my workday.

I didn't get much done that day. My mind kept on wandering in circles.

One thing I'd learned, when formulating any strategy, was that you needed to have answers to all central questions before implementing the first step. Predicting what would happen once the wheels were set in motion was key to your ultimate success.

I noticed pretty quickly that there were too many questions I didn't have a ready answer to.

I thought I knew something about Isabella Marie Swan after the long summer we'd spent together, the summer I'd tried in vain to woo her, and I did–at least to a certain degree. I knew she preferred The Beatles over the Stones, Biggie Smalls over Kanye, and the imaginary world of books over reality; she liked her sugar with coffee and cream, and extra sauce but never extra cheese; she'd hated high school, but had come to appreciate college; she never gossiped and lacked a competitive edge, for lack of a better term; she loved Casablanca and the Simpsons. But when I thought about it, it felt like I'd barely scratched the surface, and whatever I knew, provided me with no insight into her relationship with Riley.

There were the simple queries I thought I couldn't have come up with a response to, because even if I would've attempted to figure her out more, I was lacking the basic facts necessary to ask them. Did she know about Riley's indiscretions? Did she have a hunch, at least? For that, I would've had to known Riley _or _I would've had to ask her about him, which in turn would have required some form of admission on my part that I had a competitor … that failure was an option.

Either way, as a result of my ignorance, I was left with nothing more but conjecture when it came to her relationship.

Riley had been everything but inconspicuous, and I felt certain that he wasn't a novice at the game he was playing. My instincts told me she should at least suspect it.

In the end, even for the sort of simple estimates that hinged on how well I'd figured her out, like the question of whether she would stay with him if she knew, I fell short of explanations.

Would she accept a philandering boyfriend? Where there other factors that played a part in why she was with him? I had no clue.

It troubled me that I apparently knew so little and not only because the success or failure of my plan to get rid of Riley hinged on it. Ultimately, it meant that I hadn't spent as much time as I should've getting to know her.

By the time my driver took me downtown, I was antsy to get some answers from Alice.

"I need your help," was the first thing out of my mouth when I saw her sitting at a stainless steel bar, sipping her standard vodka soda. I noticed that she'd picked a place that had no other customers. It was only the bartender and her in a tiny space occupied by a bar with six stools, glass shelves lined with liquor and a karaoke station in the back.

"I figured as much." She smirked at me and lit a cigarette while the bartender locked the front door, flipped the sign from "open" to "closed" and disappeared through a whole in the floor to the basement. "I'm fine by the way."

"I'm sorry. How are you?"

"Don't worry about it. I'm okay."

"I ran into Riley."

"I see."

"Does she know?" I looked at her closely, watching her reaction.

"Let me see …" She bit her lip for a moment and narrowed her eyes, as if contemplating her answer further. "I gather you've discovered something about Riley that is not altogether pleasant and you're hoping it will help you somehow to get Bella, correct?"

I nodded.

"Since Riley is not short of shortcomings–no pun intended–I'd have to go out on limb here and say, maybe?"

I sat down next to her. The fact that Alice wasn't able to guess what I was talking about showed me something. Maybe Riley was more careful than I'd given him previously credit for. "Okay. I see. You have no idea what I'm talking about?"

"Yes, that would be an accurate assessment. I also have to warn you, I might not be that useful when it comes to Riley. I've already told her in no uncertain terms that I don't think too highly of him. On several occasions actually and she's still with him. I'm afraid her patience with me on that subject is wearing thin."

"I see. What do you know about him? And why do _you_ dislike him? If you don't mind me asking …"

"Well, for starters, he dumped her several times over the past four years. He, of course, called it 'taking a break,' but I have my suspicions about that. I hate his guts, just for that reason alone. He's the only guy she's ever been with and personally, I don't think he's good enough for her. Let me restate that, I think he's bad for her. He knows how to play on all her insecurities.

"What I know about him? I already pretty much gave you what I know about his family. Riley and Bella's parents know each other, but I can't say I know more. I don't think they are close. Riley used to be different when they first started dating. Long hair, bongo playing, pot smoking … well," she rolled her eyes, "you get the picture. He went to Bard, what more can I say? Anyway, I could see why Bella liked him at first, though I thought from the get go he was a poser. The fact that he did a one-eighty turnaround becoming a suit-wearing snob with political aspirations and law school as the next course on the menu only confirms it." She sighed and blew the smoke from her cigarette out. I fingered one of her American Spirits out of the pack and lit it.

"To make sure he has all his ducks in a row, he's has been pressuring her to get engaged before he goes back to school next fall. Even she's hesitant about that one-"

"Wait! What?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "She can't!" I coughed loudly, the smoked going down the wrong way. I started to panic, never a good move when strategizing.

"Well… what are you going to do about it?" She gave me an expectant glance.

"Does she know he cheats on her? You said you had your suspicions … does that mean she's fine with that?"

Alice stared at me for a second, disbelief and astonishment written on her face. "Are you certain?" She didn't seem to buy it, at least not immediately.

"Are you asking me whether I actually caught him in the act? No." I knew I was right, even if I hadn't bothered to stick around for the rest of the evening.

"No … I mean … I believe you. Yeah, I had the feeling when they were taking a break–or whatever that weasel called it–it was most likely so he could sleep around. But I didn't think he was actually doing it while he was with her, no! Particularly not now that he has all these plans which require him to keep a squeaky clean imagine."

"Would she believe you if you told her?"

"I don't know. The problem is, she'd confront him about it, and he'd most certainly deny it." She pursed her lips and looked at me. "If she were convinced that he is in fact sleeping around on her, I don't think she'd tolerate it and I think that would be the nail in the coffin for their relationship." A satisfied smile appeared on lips. "Would you tell her?"

"I think that might backfire. I'm not sure it's the right approach either way."

"I don't know … you want her to catch him in the act?" she guessed. I winced as she said it out loud, but that was exactly what I'd planned.

"Yes. If you are sure she'd be done with him afterward," I admitted.

"Yeah, I'm sure she would. I think there's a certain level of mistrust from her side already … doubts … the breakups. I mean, she's not stupid, just sometimes slightly blind to the obvious."

"Her parents don't have a dog in that fight, do they?"

She thought about her answer for a second. "They're supportive of the relationship … as far as I know, but I can't imagine her dad would tolerate that kind of behavior–particularly not in public. He'd possibly tell her herself to dump him if he caught wind of it. Not that I suggest we go there." Her smile broadened. "What can I do to help?"

"I don't know yet. For now, all I need is information. I'll let you know when I need your help for anything more."

"I can help you with Bella … but what about him? Don't you need to figure out where he is etcetera?"

"I'll see whether I can figure out the schedule of the Congressman he's working for. Can't be that hard? I'm sure there's another fundraising event on the schedule."

"If you need help with Riley, I might know someone who'd be able to."

"The less people know the better. I don't want her to find out I was behind it," I added quickly.

"I understand. Still … I suggest you give Jake, her cousin, a call. I'll give you his number. I don't know what exactly his beef is with Riley, but he knows him well and hates him with a passion. He'd be happy to help, and he's good at keeping his trap shut."

"Okay. I'll think about it."

We stayed in the bar until closing time, drinking and talking. She was curious to find out about my run in with Riley and what I'd gathered from my observation. Alice immediate support of my plan ensured that I never second-guessed it.

"Pick up the phone the next time she calls you," Alice said before she got out of the car in front of her building. "Just because she catches Riley with another woman in bed, that won't make her run straight into your arms. Bella is a private person. She'd probably be apprehensive to trust anyone afterwards. Talk to her before this goes down. Trust me."

I nodded and smiled. I had no plan yet on how to deal with Bella. Part of me was still angry. Yes, I wanted her desperately, but I also badly wanted to show her how poorly she'd made her choices, though I knew little about them.

The next day, I called Jake despite the fact that I had some qualms about involving him. He wasn't surprised to receive a call from me, which made me think Alice had probably already given him a heads up. He invited me to come shoot hoops with him downtown that night.

By six, I went home, changed into some old workout clothes and jumped on the 6 train to meet Jake. Alice was right. He turned out to be the most useful source of information and without his help, my plan certainly wouldn't have run as smooth a course as it did.

We hung around the court for a while–not talking much, sweating and trying to outperform each other. In comparison to the other times when we'd fleetingly met, he seemed hostile.

"Alice said you needed my help with something," he started during a break.

"Yeah … maybe. I ran into Riley the other night."

He laughed.

"I'm assuming Alice has told you I'm not a fan."

"You could say that. How well do you know him?"

"I've known him since pre-school. We were never friends, but you can't get away spending as much time together as we did without at least figuring out the likes and dislikes of a person."

"How about his vices?" I prodded.

"You mean the fact that he can't keep his dick in his pants?" he asked with an edge to his voice.

I chuckled. He shrugged his shoulders. The expression of his face remained cool. He didn't seem to be amused.

"And for the record, I've told Bella about it. Unfortunately I had no direct evidence … just rumors. And he's nothin' if not a good liar. He denied everything and she believed him. But what's it to you? From what she tells me you guys no longer talk."

He gave me a stern glance. At the core, Jake always had her best interest at heart.

"It's complicated …"

"You know she ended up working for her dad because of your stupid chivalry?"

"Excuse me?" I couldn't see the connection.

"Admit it, you wrote that summary of the prospectus. All those neatly analyzed graphs … I can understand you wanted to help her, and I'm sure you weren't aware that the assignment was forwarded directly from her dad's desk … but fuck – did you have to add algorithms in there, predicting a return of investment?"

I remembered the prospectus, of course.

"I'm still not sure I understand. And why was he sending her stuff?"

"Her dad only sees what he wants to see. When my father told him Bella seemed to have a hard time figuring out working with plugged-in formulas in Excel and was lacking good analytical skills, he didn't believe him. They have their own little pissing contest going on … never mind that. So he sent a little assignment over and you executed it—apparently quite well."

"Why didn't she tell him she didn't do it?"

He exhaled loudly. "Somehow she was worried she'd get you into trouble for helping her. I told her fat chance because from what I'd heard you're their golden boy. They wouldn't touch you. She wasn't convinced. She was going to just admit she had help … but she can't lie and eventually Charlie would've gotten a name out of her." He paused and inspected me.

"She should have told him. I couldn't have cared less." I doubted anybody at the firm would've approached me about it. Maybe a smack on the hand for some internal ethics violation, but I even that seemed doubtful. There was too much other shit going on that nobody ever said boo about.

"Don't worry. That wasn't the only reason she finally took the job. It was simply one less excuse of why she wouldn't work for him."

"Money? I don't understand." Her decision still didn't make sense to me.

"You're not giving her enough credit. Look, man, I don't know you that well … but no offense, I think you got her wrong." He sat down on the bench on the side of the court, and I sat down next to him.

"Kate's dad had a heart attack, so whatever her parents' initially thought they could chip in to help, evaporated, and on Kate's salary she couldn't even pay her share for a studio in Brooklyn they'd found." He shook his head. "So Bella took the job with her dad when he basically told her he'd buy her an apartment if she did. It seemed like a good solution … but of course it didn't take into account what she wanted. Not that he cared."

I'd always wondered about her father, and quite frankly, why she was so reliant on his wealth; usually families with as much of it as hers had trust funds set up for their children. But money, along with any questions about her family, was just another topic I'd never dared to touch on.

"I had no idea," I finally said.

"Well, right. That would have actually involved asking questions, rather than checking out her ass." He huffed and got up from the bench.

I didn't attempt to argue with him.

"Never mind. I'll help you because she needs to see Riley for who he really is before it's too late."

"I see."

"So shoot. What do you have planned?" he demanded, standing across from me with his arms folded in front of his chest.

"When Riley does engage in his extra curricular activities, how likely is he to bring his conquests to his place?"

"My guess would be very. It explains definitely why he still keeps the separate studio on the Upper East Side. It's a rat hole and he stays with his parents most of the time. He has an apartment at the bottom of their townhouse."

"Does Bella visit his bachelor pad?"

"Very rarely."

"So she wouldn't have a key?"

"As a matter of fact she does." He grinned. "They had a big argument about a week ago. Trust was apparently the subject. Long story short, to prove to her how committed he was, he gave her the key. He's working on convincing her to get engaged, even pulled out Grandma Lanier's ring for the occasion, but so far she hasn't agreed. Told him to keep the ring."

"Interesting."

"Good for you, I guess." I could tell he wasn't quite sure whether to like me or not. Apparently he was quite offended that I'd stopped talking to his cousin. "So … how are you going to convince the other girl to coordinate efforts? Do you know her?" He raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"From what I observed, there is no 'one' other girl." He looked at me with a confused expression on his face. "Don't worry about it. She'll be a professional. Can you figure out what Riley's schedule will be like ... I don't know ... next week?"

A satisfied grin spread over his face when he realized what I was planning.

"I know he'll be at a party his college buddy is hosting next Thursday. I normally wouldn't go, but I'll make an exception. Forward me the contact info for the girl, and I'll point her in the right direction. Alice will make sure Bella has somewhere else to be."

"Next Thursday … okay. I guess it's on." I got up from the bench and we played a couple more games.

"And Edward," he called after me as I was about to leave.

"Yeah?" I turned around to look at him.

"I've heard rumors about you, too. You better not live up to your reputation."

I smirked.

"I mean it. I will fuck with you, if I hear so much as a whisper about it."

The rest was easy after that. After Jake had forwarded me the information for the party, I called up one of the hostess services Jasper and I had often used to entertain clients.

"Irena, how are you?" I asked politely when the Madam answered the phone.

"Same as always. For the night? Everything included?" she asked, getting right down to business.

"Yes. Can you arrange for car service?"

"Sure. How many and when? Tonight?"

"Next week and only one."

"Anything in particular?"

I contemplated briefly what would be up Riley's alley.

"Someone who can make halfway intelligent cocktail conversation. Eastern European would be fine, I suppose, but nobody with too heavy of an accent. I'd like to meet her for five minutes before, possibly tomorrow, if it can be arranged. She needs to be proficient at the art of seduction. I'll pay double for the right girl."

"Very well. Call me back tomorrow. I'll have a list of possible candidates ready. Introductions before hand will cost extra."

"Fine. What time?"

"Around noon."

By the end of the next day, I had it all figured out. I'd picked a tall blonde who didn't seem to mind the extra acting skills required for the job and was pleased when she found out Riley was barely twenty four years old and not entirely unattractive. Jake had agreed to meet her in front of the bar the party was held at exactly seven thirty the next week. Bella would be having dinner with Alice. Everything up to that point in the plan seemed easy. The next step, however, depended on the soft touch of the girl I'd hired. She'd have to snatch Riley's phone and send Bella a text message to meet him at his place. We had a backup plan, but that one was more suspicious. All in all, I was pretty certain it would work out.

The only think I hadn't figured out by the end of that weekend was how to talk to Bella. I held the phone in my hand a couple of times, nearly pressing the call button.

I was still unprepared on what to say to her when I got an unexpected call at my office the next Monday.

"Sir," Jessica chirped through the intercom. "You have a call on line one." She hung up immediately. Assuming it was someone important, I picked up the receiver.

"Edward? Please don't hang up on me!"

I hadn't noticed until that point how much I'd missed her voice.

* * *

**Thank you for reading!**

**A/N** – again of the unpretentious variety:

IcarusToSun wrote a review for the TwiFicDataBase about this story. THANK you. I put a link to it up on my profile. I totally owe you, girl!

DreamOfTheEndless posted a review at this site www(dot)avantgardeawards(dot)com – under story spotlight for June 9th– and a bunch of my readers actually wrote mini-reviews for that! Reading all this nice stuff about this story totally made me blush.

So, many thanks to Erikajo, Kisvakondok, cejsmom, BellaScotia, genevieve blanc, dreamzuvedward, arfalcon, IcarusToSun, Krazi4twiSaga, spanglemaker9!

The reviews were really much more eloquent and well written than my story. I will shut up now and try to crank out the next chapter.

Kisvakondok just finished school – I will start a campaign to convince her to write a new chapter for Mating in Captivity. If you haven't read her story, go check it out. It's under my favorites.


	14. Chapter 14

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**13.**

**2007**

A loaded silence ensued during which I debated what to say next.

"Edward?"

"I'm here," I choked out, heeding Alice's warning.

"I'm sorry to bother you––"

"Don't be."

"Listen … about the present … I just wanted to say ––"

"I got the note." I cleared my throat and made a quick decision. "So … how about lunch?"

"Oh…" I sensed some hesitation in her voice. I didn't get why she was wavering. After all, she was the one who kept on calling me insisting that we should be friends, whining about how much she missed spending time with me. I didn't get.

"Listen, why don't we start from scratch?" I tried my best to stay calm and reasonable.

"Okay. Same place, same time?"

"Sure. I'll see you then."

"Great. Bye."

I didn't respond and waited for her to hang up first. She didn't.

"Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"Thank you," she breathed, and suddenly I couldn't get off the phone quick enough.

I fucked around the office until I was almost late for our lunch date. When I got to the restaurant, Isabella was sitting at our table in the back, nervously glancing around the place, until she saw me approaching. A small smile appeared on her lips, but it wasn't masking what belied it. Her hands played nervously around the rim of a cup filled with steaming liquid, and her eyes looked hollow, shadows underneath them–signs of anxiety and fatigue.

"Hey." I tossed my jacket over the chair next to me and sat down.

"Hey," she murmured, gazing into the cup between her hands. "So…"

"Where do we start?"

Her head lifted minutely and her eyes peeked up at me. The hair pulled together into a too tight bun and the new set of slightly bigger diamond studs made her look older, too old almost. She looked like she'd lost some weight as well, and it didn't suit her.

"I don't know." She shifted in her chair.

"Okay…well." I reached my hand over the table. "Edward Cullen. Pleasure to meet you. Have we met before?"

She rolled her eyes before straightening her shoulders. "Likewise and I think we have. Isabella Swan." Her fingers reached for mine. I glanced at her left wrist.

"New watch?"

She retracted her hand from mine and attempted to cover up the new Rolex she was wearing.

"Birthday present from my dad. So … what are you up to these days?" she asked, exhaling sharply.

"Working a lot and not much else. How about you?"

"Same." Her face took on a somber expression. "Except, I still don't do anything that requires a brain. Most of the time in the office I spend at the copy machine."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why did you do it … take the job with your dad?" I wanted to hear it from her, not as a secondhand tale. Maybe I was also curious to see whether she'd be honest with me. And she was, even down to the embarrassing details about handing in the work that wasn't hers.

I laughed when she was done, self-consciously looking everywhere but at me.

"Don't laugh," she snapped, tossing a napkin she'd been clutching at me. "When I forwarded the work to my uncle, I wanted to disclose that I'd had help. _You_ were the one who told me not to."

"So what happened?" I couldn't hide my amusement at her shame.

"First, I was scared you'd get into trouble if they found out who'd done the work … and then Kate practically begged me to take the job, complaining how long she had to spend every day on the Long Island Railroad traveling to her parents' house and how she could swing contributing a bit to the maintenance fees of the apartment … how fun it would be, and she really needed this after what had happened to her … well, you get the gist. I know it's stupid. Come on say it, I'm a pushover!"

I was surprised by her candor, though I shouldn't have been. She'd always been straightforward when asked a question directly.

"I'm not going there. Though I do think I might have to teach you a trick."

"What trick would that be?"

"How to say 'no' without feeling guilty."

"You're right …" She sighed wistfully. "To be honest, my father has to know it wasn't my work. I've worked on one project since I started in the job, and I botched that up royally."

We placed our regular order and talked about nothing of consequence. Considering what had happened between us, we fell back into our old pattern remarkably quick, talking about the office, her job – yet dancing surreptitiously around anything of substance. The weeks we hadn't talked had given me time to think, and I'd come to the realization that I'd never fully know her until I queried into the areas that were uncomfortable.

"So, how's the boyfriend?" I started out.

She looked at me quietly for a little too long.

"What? You don't want to talk about it? If we're supposed to be friends, don't you think we should?" I mocked her, but I was serious.

"He's fine … we're fine, I guess," she corrected herself. "He's been really busy working as well." She shrugged. Her attitude seemed rather blasé. The grand declarations of love she'd professed so fervently while tipsy during our first afternoon together were missing. "Are you seeing anyone?"

"No."

"Right," she taunted. "You don't date. How could I forget?"

"Oh, but I'm not sure that it'd still be an accurate statement."

"How so?" she asked, laughing.

"I only ever wanted one girl, and she's unavailable. So you see, therein lies my dilemma." The reaction on her face was immediate; the smile disappeared quickly and a frown line formed between her eyebrows.

"Don't do that, Edward."

"It's the truth." She stared at her plate, moving a piece of ginger around with her chopsticks. "Look at me." When she did, her face looked pained. I wasn't sure if it was guilt or something else that gnawed at her. "If you want to stay in touch, I think I should be honest with you. I like you and I wanted more than friendship. I don't think I ever made a secret of that.

"I'm here now, willing to give this another try. But don't ask me to lie or to pretend."

"I'm sorry, I screwed up." She dropped the chopsticks. "For some reason I thought if I'd slept with you, I'd just be another notch on your belt of never ending conquests. We'd get rid of the tension and could just be..."

"Was that your plan? Really?" I had a feeling that not reining in my anger would work out to be a mistake, but couldn't help myself. "Mission accomplished? Tension dissipated?"

"I can't do this," she said with determination, looking me straight in the eyes. "I know I made a mistake. I misjudged you, but can you really blame me? You garnered quite a reputation for sleeping around at the firm. Hell, _you_ never even made a secret about it."

Arguing with her wasn't going to get me anywhere. I could've told her that, unlike me, I'd never attempted to be friends with the women I slept with.

"Okay … I guess I had it coming," I admitted.

"Still. I knew you, well … know you. I'm sorry." I didn't know why she was backpedaling.

"Bella, can you do me a favor?"

"Yes, of course."

"Please, please, please stop apologizing or saying you're sorry. It's okay. Stick to your point and let's just move on."

"Fine."

As I walked back to my office alone, I wasn't sure what to make of our lunch. In one respect Emmett was right–it felt better to have her in my life than to not. And the fact that I had a plan in place to get rid of Riley calmed me, reassured me, that this wasn't the end. I'd just have to play along until she came around.

And I did.

_Bella(dot)Swan(dot)88(at)gmail(dot)com_

_Eacullen(at)wohlfman(dot)com_

Hey!

Do you have a private e-mail address?

Bella

_Cullen(dot)10314(at)gmail(dot)com _

_Bella(dot)Swan(dot)88(at)gmail(dot)com_

Private? This better be good.

A box popped up to approve Bella(dot)Swan(dot)88 on my chat list.

- _Hi!_

_- be careful w/asking for my help on work related stuff. u know where that got u the last time!_

_- No, never again. I'm bored. This guy, James, he started working here at the same time as I, and he's all eager. I can't fake it anyway – it's hopeless. James has taken the lead after I screwed up._

_- I see. so what r u doing all day then?_

_- God, Edward. I can't believe you are writing in this awful text message speak._

_- I'm busy. u should b glad I'm responding all. Not all of us have the luxury 2 get paid 4 doing nothing._

_- I'm sorry. You really do think I'm a spoiled, silly girl._

_- Silly? No. Girl? Definitely. Spoiled? Yes. Maybe u should own up 2 it?_

_- Never._

_- Tell me something 2 make me change my mind?_

_- You are obviously far too busy for that. It's a long story. Let's just say, I don't have a choice._

_- I'm all ears/eyes?_

_- Another time?_

_- Sure._

~o0o~

By the time Thursday, October 11, 2007 rolled around on the calendar–the day the Dow would reach its highest point while homeowners started to default in droves as the new interest rates for their adjustable rate mortgages started kicking in–I'd almost forgotten about the plan I'd set in motion.

It wasn't even ten thirty that night when I got the call.

"Everything worked out smoothly. She walked right in on us," the girl informed me. "Call Irina if you ever need my services again."

"Thanks."

I hit the red button and deleted her number.

On my instruction, Alice called Bella shortly afterward. I was relieved to find out that she'd made it home.

"Did she say anything?"

"Yeah, she said that she'd just broken up with Riley … but she didn't say why. I'm going over to her place now. Don't worry."

I should've been pleased, but I wasn't. I couldn't sleep and ended up pulling an all-nighter working on a deal involving the privatization of a real estate investment trust. Billy Black was one of directors who'd put the deal together. Personally, I didn't see the rational behind the transaction–foreclosures were already on the rise, dragging the value of real estate down, but I was too preoccupied to question it.

By six AM, feeling sick, I called my driver to take me to the office. I ordered oatmeal and tea for breakfast from the deli downstairs, and continued working.

By nine, unable to wait any longer, I called Alice again.

"How's she doing?"

"Honestly, she seems to be fine. We had two shots of tequila, she told me what happened and that was it. I mean she was angry … mostly because she said she always believed him when he swore to her that he'd never cheat. I think she was planning on going to work today. Call her, if you want. It's strange really," Alice mused.

"Why?"

"She's almost too calm and cool about it … I don't know." She paused. "Don't worry about it. I think we did the right thing."

I hung up and logged into my gmail account. She wasn't online, but she picked up the phone on first ring when I called.

"Hi, Edward," she answered, sounding out of breath. "Listen, I took the day off to run errands. When do you think you'll be home tonight? I'll call you then."

"I don't know … about eight? Why?"

"Great! Talk to you then."

She hung up without another word.

As the Dow bounced for a bit, I left the office early. I hadn't done that in at least three years.

The unsettling feeling that something could still work against me didn't entirely vanish. I pretty much spent most of the early evening pacing back and forth in my living room, not even registering when the newscaster announced that the Dow had dropped some points for the first time in a long time–a sign that the bubble had started to burst. I didn't care.

When my doorman called up at seven thirty, I almost didn't want to answer, too focused on my phone.

"A Ms. Swan is here to see you Mr. Cullen. May I send her up?"

"Yes, please."

I wasn't sure what to expect next. My mouth went dry as I waited for the sound that announced the elevator's arrival on my floor. She'd never paid me a spontaneous visit.

"Hey," she greeted me, wearing a tight mini-dress, a loosely draped scarf around her shoulders and riding boots. I stood in my door wondering what was happening for a second. Her hair hung in long straight strands over her shoulder and meticulously applied makeup highlighted her features. Gold hoop earrings I'd never seen before on her completed the look. "Aren't you gonna let me in?"

She walked past me with a swing in her step, dropping the jacket and the snake leather clutch she'd tucked under her arm on a chair, moving her hand through her hair once. I got it then. I took another look as she stood in my living room where a cold breeze was flowing in from the open terrace door–her hardened nipples clearly visible without a bra affirmed it.

"Did you eat dinner yet?" I closed the door and followed her.

"No," she answered, biting her lip and dropping her scarf on the sofa. "Aren't you going to offer me a drink?"

I folded my arms over my chest and leaned back against the wall, enjoying the show before I had to put a stop to it.

"I don't think drinking on an empty stomach is such a great idea."

"What's wrong with you, Edward?" She rolled her eyes and started walking toward the liquor cabinet. "I thought we'd covered that subject already? You're neither my mother nor my father, so …"

"Listen. If you're here to screw your ex out of the system, forget about it. I'm not interested." I remained in my spot, a safe distance away.

"How…why?" She swallowed, shooting me a perturbed glance.

"Never mind."

Then it dawned on her. "Alice! I can't believe it. She told you I broke up with Riley?"

I nodded. There was no use denying it.

She sighed as she sunk down on the sofa and pulled her scarf back over her shoulders.

"Don't be mad at her."

She snickered. "I'm not. It's okay. Was I that obvious?" she mumbled with her hands covering her face.

"I'm going to be polite and not answer that. It's flattering, really."

"Great. Do you mind if I have a drink now? I think I need one." She played with the hem of her dress, pushing it down further self-consciously.

"Have dinner with me."

She didn't respond, but stared at me with wide eyes.

"You and me–a romantic date?" A hint of sarcasm tainted her voice.

"For tonight we can just call it dinner between friends. But tomorrow night will be a date."

She pushed her hair behind her ear and furrowed her brows in concentration, seemingly contemplating how to shoot me down.

"It's fine. Let's go," she said finally with a small smile on her face.

"So … did Alice tell you the details?" she asked as she sipped her first glass of wine at the restaurant.

"No. I was hoping you would."

I was expecting her to fumble, blush and fidget next. She didn't. "I caught him in bed with another girl. It was all rather weird. He'd sent me a text message around eight to come to his house. I never responded. Truthfully, I was planning on ignoring the message. We'd been fighting for a while. Plus, I knew he was at a party and would be drunk anyway. I was betting he'd have totally forgotten by the time I go home that he'd texted me. And sure enough, he must have …" She grimaced. "Oh, well … at least the girl was attractive ... pretty." She picked up her glass again and emptied it in one swig.

I pushed the breadbasket and olive oil dish over to her. She didn't argue and ate.

"Why does that matter?"

"Because … I think it would have stung more if she'd been just an average looking girl … but she was… umm," she dug into the prosciutto and melon dish the waiter had delivered, "so … I don't know … I guess, hot?" She wrinkled her forehead, before nodding to herself. "Yeah, definitely hot. Giselle Bündchen hot. Blonde, tall … at least judging by her legs and face. I mean I can't compete with that, can I? She looked like she'd jumped out of an underwear catalog. Skinny and big boobs? I'm not sure how that's possible … though on second thought, they did look real!"

I laughed.

"You are not allowed to laugh. Not as my date nor as my friend." She shot me a disapproving look.

"You're talking complete nonsense, so how can I help it?"

"No. I'm telling you the most humiliating story of my life and you…" She huffed. "You can't laugh! It's not nice."

"I never claimed to be nice." I leaned over the table, pulled her hands into mine and stared at her. "Nice is overrated. That girl, whoever she is –was–has nothing on you. You have to know that."

Her face lit up as she gazed at me.

"I told you once before that I like you just the way you are."

"I remember, and I still think you are full of it, Cullen."

"I meant it. I still do. You are perfect. And that guy is a fool."

"I know I'm not. Only you haven't figured out yet just how flawed I am. What you should know by now, however, is that I'm horrible at saying no and at planning."

"Yeah, that was an all time piss-poor performance on the planning part, Isabella. I'm not sure I'd call it a flaw though." My fingers grazed over the exposed skin of her arm, making her shiver.

She got drunk that night, polishing off three bottles of wine at the restaurant and some bourbon at my place. I guess it was inevitable. After she fell asleep on my sofa, I carried her to the spare bedroom, took her boots off and closed the door.

I slept well that night and woke up only when I felt someone move near me. I blinked and saw her lying next to me, wearing one of my shirts. Her wet hair was twisted together at the back of the head and her face was scrubbed clean of any traces of make-up.

_I prefer that look on her—the one without makeup, so I can see the freckles on her nose and the tiny ones along her mouth._

She smiled when I opened my eyes.

"How long have you been up?"

"Mmmh … not that long. I hope you don't mind. I took a shower, borrowed one of your shirts … and," she closed her eyes briefly and whispered, "usedyourtoothbrush. Kill me know. I'm sorry."

"I don't care. Feel free to use anything you want."

"What if I take you up on that offer?" Her hand slid slowly over my stomach.

_Her attempts at seduction are always so conspicuous and enticing._

"Maybe I need to clarify. There is one condition." I turned to face her.

"Wait." She brushed her fingers over my lips lightly. "Before you give me your condition, I need to say something."

She buried her face in my neck. When her hot breath fanned against my skin, I was about to forget about my condition and just pull her against me.

"Edward?"

"I'm waiting."

"You must know I like you. I'd never use you to get over Riley. I was over him a long time ago … I just didn't realize it. I thought I knew him and he turned out to be someone … something … entirely different. I'm sorry. I never meant to do this so backwards."

"Don't ever mention him again."

"Is that the condition?"

"Only part of it."

"Easy. What else?" She moved back and looked at me.

"You have to be with me."

"Date you?"

"I want more, but for now … yes."

"Are you sure? I don't know whether I'd have the stomach for a repeat per ––"

"Stop." I pulled her hands into mine and kissed the tips of the fingers. "I mean it. You and me. Nobody else. I would never do to you what he did. Never."

"Don't make promises you can't keep." Her eyes had wandered off into the distance. She sounded bitter and disappointed. At that moment, I couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible and it marked the first time I regretted setting the wheels in motion that led to her break-up.

_Maybe I shouldn't have interfered? Maybe I should have let their relationship run its natural cause? Maybe she would've come to me without ever figuring out who Riley is? It's funny how I stew about it now—now that it's too late. Back then I didn't even question my decision. _

"I'm not in the habit of doing that. This would be something new for me, but that doesn't mean I don't want it, or I wouldn't stick to what I promised. Your track record on the other hand isn't as assuring."

"I'm sorry ––" I kissed her before I had to hear one more word. She closed her eyes and kissed me back eagerly. Her hands started roaming and her tongue darted out.

"Deal?" I asked. She was lying on top of me, her body pressing against mine.

"Yes." She trailed kisses down my neck and rocked her hips against mine.

I halted her movements, not sure whether it was the right thing to do. I was weary of making the same mistake again.

"I want you. Please, Edward."

Unlike her, I was never any good at resisting temptation.

I worked my best to make her feel good that time, using all the tricks in the book and taking it slow. She panted and withered fast, and for the first time I felt something other than pride at those sounds. Before Bella, I'd never felt pleasure in bringing pleasure to someone other than myself. It had been an obligation of sorts, and I liked the fact I was good at it. But with her it was different. Making her feel good wasn't an accomplishment. To me, it was a gift.

* * *

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	15. Chapter 15

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**14.**

2007

We barely left the apartment for the rest of the weekend after that morning, the morning I finally made her mine. The things I discovered made me thirsty for more. I wanted to stop time so that the Monday after would never come.

"You don't have to do _that_," she said with a dry smile on her lips, looking down at me as I kissed my way down her stomach, my hands sliding along her ribcage.

"What?" Undeterred, I bit her skin lightly, leaving a pink mark.

"You know … " She pushed herself up on her elbows and rolled her eyes at me. Distracted by the sight of her breasts in front of me–small, round, and perky–I didn't react until a mocking smile formed on her lips. I decided to play dumb and only raised my eyebrows at her.

"Tell me," I murmured against her skin, moving down farther until my face was right between her legs. She didn't push them together or squirm. Bella never really hesitated to take her clothes off; nudity, the associated awkwardness or even shame weren't the issue. The problem, I sensed, was elsewhere.

"Go down on me. But fine, do what you must." She lay back on the bed with a sigh of resignation. "Just be warned, it has _never _worked for me so don't think it's you. It's me, I'm defective."

I couldn't help but smile at her words while I was busy licking the delectable skin of her inner thigh, enjoying the taste and the view. I didn't believe her.

I took my time exploring her legs–from the pale soft flesh of her thighs to the smooth skin of her calves down to the narrow ankles that looked so breakable–trying to memorize everything while I had the chance.

For a while, when we first got together, it felt as if every day I spent with her would be my last one.

I let one finger trail along the arch of her foot and she giggled.

"If your goal is to make me laugh, mission accomplished." She moved her foot away. I reached for it quickly and held on to it.

_She has perfect feet, all toes neatly line up in a descending row and they're soft. _

"If it relaxes you, yes." I moved my hands up along her left calve to the small scar below her knee.

"How did you get this?" I asked inspecting the fine line, slightly elevated and lighter than the rest of her skin.

"Jake chased me one summer … with cold water from a hose in the yard. I ran away and slipped on the tiled floor near the pool."

"I see." I let my hands trail up along the outside of her legs and over her protruding hipbones.

I started to keep track of the spots that made her squirm and those that calmed her down when my fingers and mouth found them. I continued touching her, feeling her, learning out how she liked to be touched by watching her body react.

_I'm proficient now, you could say. _

She tensed up when I first reached my target. I didn't stop, and eventually she gave in and closed her eyes.

It took a while to say the least. I had to try different techniques until I figured out what worked with her. My persistence paid off in the end.

She was quiet and still and without watching her closely, I might have easily missed what she liked. Since the girl itself was complicated, I expected nothing less. I focused on the small signs that did give her away, like the way her chest rose and fell as her breathing accelerated ever so slightly, the way her hands were first relaxed and then grabbed the sheets, and the minute movements in her hips. Her breathing halted and she didn't move a muscle right before. When she came, her hips pushed up and a low moan escaped her.

She didn't acknowledge my success until later.

"About before … I think I was wrong."

"Wrong about what?" I asked, rolling up some spaghetti and enjoying the meal.

She'd prepared dinner with surprisingly able and sure hands in my kitchen. I'd watched her closely, waiting for her to burn something or overcook the pasta. To my amazement, she didn't.

"I might not be defective after all," she said, turning red. "I guess I'm benefiting from all those years of experience."

"I don't know about that …" I hedged.

"Don't sell yourself short. You know what they say, 'practice makes perfect.'" A teasing grin spread over her face.

"Practice helps and surely teaches you some tricks." I really didn't care for the topic of conversation. "But mostly, it's patience and the effort you put in that makes you excel. Just how much of that you are willing to invest depends how badly you want it."

"I see." She took a sip of her wine. "Makes sense." The teasing smile that had graced her lips a moment before vanished and suddenly she looked disappointed. I didn't like it.

"This is really good, by the way." I pushed another fork of pasta into my mouth, trying to switch the topic, hoping to get back to easy banter.

"And there you thought girls like me couldn't cook."

"Did I say that?"

"Sort of, yeah. Don't you remember?"

"Yes, I do remember our first lunch break quite well. I can admit when I'm wrong, too. I take it back. You can cook for me any day of the week."

"Ha! You wish."

"I could make it worth your while."

"I'm sure you could. At the time you said it, you weren't entirely wrong..."

"Really? What happened? Took a cooking class?"

"No, that's what my mom suggested as a solution when I asked her. Though she thought it was a bad idea altogether. She didn't see the point. '_Why do you want to learn how to cook? It's so pedestrian and domestic. Never mind that you'll be tempted to taste while you cook. Just think of the weight you'll gain!' _Sometimes I really do hate her. The class … it seemed stupid to take one to basically learn how to boil water. So I watched cooking shows, bought books, sort of taught myself how to cook last summer by doing it."

At the time, her words seemed harsh, but after getting to know her mother, I could see where the feeling of resentment came from.

"What brought that on?"

"Believe it or not," she shook her head and laughed, "you! When you said girls like me couldn't prepare anything edible … I don't know. I guess it bugged me." She paused and stared into the wine glass. "I don't want be that girl anymore–the one who can't do anything by herself and needs help with normal everyday things; the one who's admired for her style that isn't even hers, but not really for her personality; the one how who's been taught how to make polite cocktail conversation, and to never say what she thinks. I hate it—I always have. "

I reached underneath the table and pulled her leg, nearly accomplishing my goal of making her slip off the chair with one tuck.

"Hey! What are you doing?" She tried kicking and pushing my hand away, but I had her in a secure grip as I moved underneath the table.

"I think I owe you something. So …" I was eager to enjoy, to please, and to win her over permanently any which way I could. "For the record, you are so much more than that and don't ever feel the need to change anything just for me."

~o0o~

That first Sunday, I woke up to the smell of scrambled eggs and bacon coming from my kitchen.

She was wearing one of my t-shirts and boxer shorts. Her lips spread into a smile when I joined her next to the stove.

_I still remember that moment with absolute clarity. I think it was the first time I caught it—that smile that only appears when she's truly happy. It's a toothy one. Her eyes squint, small lines appear around the edges, and there's a flicker in them that's contagious. You can't help but feel content._

"Hey." I kissed her on the neck.

"Did you miss me?" she teased, smacking my hand away before I could reach for the bacon.

"Always." I stepped behind her and pulled her gently against me.

"Liar."

"It's the truth. I'd never lie to you." I pressed her too thin form against me. She looked and felt so fragile during those days.

"Right." She pushed me away from the stove to the kitchen island with chairs. "Sit. Breakfast will be ready in a minute."

I did as I was told. "I mean it, you know."

"I know." She nodded and smiled at me. "So … since you've sworn to tell the truth and nothing but the truth, tell me how many," she started, pushing a plate of food in front of me.

"How many what?"

"Women have you slept with?"

The coffee I was sipping burned my tongue, and I felt like getting up and leaving the room for an inexplicable reason.

Staring straight at me, she pushed the fork into some eggs and started eating, her eyes never leaving mine.

I shrugged and dug into the food, pretending that I could ignore her question.

"I'm waiting …" She laughed. "You think I'm letting this go? No way! It's too juicy."

"Since when?" I asked, trying to buy myself some time to come up with a number that would roughly be in the ballpark.

"What? Before a certain age it doesn't count? And as an FYI, contrary to what dear Bill believes, I think oral sex counts."

"What's your beef with Bill? If I would've had to venture a guess, I'd have pegged you as a fan." Politics usually distracted her.

I recognized quickly that I was having a hard time keeping track of things that happened. High school was easy enough, but college proved to be difficult. While my roommate was getting high, I was getting busy. There were the twins, Shasha and Sonya, the hippie chick with the hot mother, the shy English lit major with the nervous twitch, the Poli Sci major who liked to argue, my professor for micro economics, possibly not my smartest call …

Even I started feeling a little sick as I counted.

"I don't have anything against him. I certainly think he was a much better President than the current one. I just didn't care to find out about his indiscretions. That's all. It was in bad taste."

"Well, he didn't exactly volunteer or brag about his private conquests, so your blame should be pointed at someone else entirely. But never mind that. Weren't you a bit too young to be fully informed on this subject?"

"Oh, please, Edward. I was twelve. And while I find your defense of him endearing, stop stalling. I have not desire to discuss Bill's cigar escapades."

"Never quite saw how that worked for him…"

"Hey! I just said I didn't want to go _there_."

"Listen, I'm counting. Give me a minute, okay?"

"Are you kidding me?" The expression on her face had shifted from mild amusement to disbelief. "Fine, let me help you count backwards. The last number on your list is sitting right in front of you. And I know of at least five confirmed ones at the firm. So we're at six now."

"Why do you want to know anyway?" I asked, exasperated. "And five what? Who?"

"Women you slept with at the office. It's against company policy by the way."

"A policy that you violated as well if my memory serves me correctly. And do tell, who of the women tattled?"

"Ahhhhh, so there're more than five. I was only an intern and it was after my last day, so it doesn't count."

"Because you called in sick."

"Seriously. You suddenly have trouble doing simple additions?" She seemed rather amused by her own line of questioning.

"Fine. Rough estimate or exact number?"

"Ugh, gross. Now I'm almost regretting I asked you." She was still smiling, giggling in fact, while I was getting angrier by the second.

"Don't you think that's kind of childish?" I lashed out. Her words kind of stung.

"Why? Did you skip sex ed? You know the lesson where they cover STDs, and they point out that when you sleep with one person, you really not sleeping with only one person. You're automatically sleeping with that person's one night stand, the office quicky and the ex-girl friend all at once."

"What's this about? And by the by, you might want to get yourself checked out, considering that this probably wasn't your boy's first tryst."

I watched her swallow hard. "Wow. That was kind of uncalled for."

"Then why the fuck are you asking?" I snapped.

"Jeez, Edward. Calm down."

Of course, I didn't. The even keel in her voice just infuriated me more. I got up, tossed the food into the sink and was about to storm out of there.

"Edward, you can't just get up and walk out on me like that!"

"Yeah? Watch!" I continued walking.

"Yeah, sure you can. I see that. I'm just not sure what kind of relationship you expect to have if you do that." I stopped right in the entrance to the hallway. I really had no idea what I was doing. "I don't understand why you are so upset. You used to be so nonchalant about this."

"It's in the past."

"Fine. I'm still not sure why the subject is suddenly off limits, though I can accept it. But do you even care what this feels like for me?" I could detect a hint of pain in her voice that made me turn around to look at her.

"Well, do you?" she insisted, sitting with her legs pulled up to her chest on the chair.

"Yes. Yes, of course I do," I answered grudgingly.

"You don't want to tell me about it–fine. Don't you realize how intimidating _this_ is … _you_ are?"

"What?" I huffed. "The fact that I was screwing around a lot is intimidating to you?" I didn't see where she was coming from.

"Well … where do I start? It's just … it seems like you have a lot more experience in _that _department than I do." She paused. "I've basically been with two guys, Edward. The first one doesn't even count. It was a stupid dare, and I only did it because all the girls I knew teased me and called me 'Isabella, the ice queen', or 'Bella the frigid virgin', so I felt I had to. And then the only I guy did date … well, he went looking in other places for something I apparently wasn't providing for him.

"So now it feels as though that whole relationship, if I should even call it that, was a sham. Like he never loved me, and I spent all this time waiting around for him for nothing. Which makes me feel like a complete failure. Like I couldn't keep him happy, so how in the world will I able be to keep you?"

I stared at her, feeling floored, leaning against the wall for support. She wasn't done though.

"So yeah, your experience is daunting, if nothing else. I didn't mean to tease you like that."

_She always has been the bigger person._

"And then there's the fact that I'm not entirely sure what you see in me. And before you tell me I'm perfect again, I'm not fishing for compliments. I'm just stating the obvious. The ones from the office, like Victoria, for example: she's beautiful, charming, a career in place … definitely not stupid. And guess what, despite the fact that you used them and didn't even bother keeping in touch with them, they all had this crush on you, it was almost sickening to hear them talk about you. It's not that I've treated you fairly, so I don't have that going for me either. I'm just…"

Unlike prior on occasion, my wits didn't fail me that time. Behind the snide comments and often assertive facade was just an insecure girl, a girl who'd just broken up with a guy who cheated on her. Thanks—in no small part to my rash interference—she now seemed to suffer from some sort of inferiority complex.

She didn't flinch when I closed the distance between us and pulled her into my arms.

"I'm sorry. I'm an idiot and I suck at this. I'll try harder." Her arms wrapped around my neck and her head came to rest on my shoulder.

"It's okay. Just don't walk away from me." And just like that, she'd forgiven me for my temper tantrum.

"Do you still want a number?" I asked after some time has passed.

"On second thought, no. Don't tell me. Some things are better left unsaid." Her hot breath hit my neck and my hand was resting on her small waist, pressing her closer.

"None of them measure up to you."

"Oh, please. Don't."

Shifting underneath her, I hinted, in no uncertain terms, at what exactly she was doing to me.

"Men are simple," I whispered into her ear, blowing a soft kiss against her neck. I was rewarded with a low, throaty chuckle. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry about anything that happened before you. I can't change it. All I can do is assure you that you are different, that you're special to me. I never wanted anybody like I wanted you. I want things to be right between us."

I took me a while to figure out how to be with her, acknowledge that not every moment would be a happy one, that intimacy sometimes couldn't be achieved with sex and that it took time and dedication to make it work. Being with Isabella was my reward, and I priced it high above all others so I never had a problem paying up.

* * *

**Hope you enjoyed the fluff :)**

**Thank you for reading.  
**


	16. Chapter 16

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**15.**

2007

In a business transaction, complete candor could work against you if you were not treading carefully. An outright lie, of course, could land you in equally hot water. The trick in making a deal happen while maintaining a cordial business relationship was always to strike a balance—to quickly move past the negatives while always accentuating the positives. Selfishness, cleverly disguised as good will, was to be expected.

In a personal relationship, telling half-truths and acting out of self-interest got you into trouble fast. I knew that and so I tried to be honest. When we were alone, I sometimes succeeded.

Sundays spent in bed with her became my favorite days of the week.

"What does the number in your e-mail address mean?" she asked, lying on her side with her back pressed against my chest.

I rolled her over onto her stomach and began kissing her shoulder, starting off at the top where the skin was covered with freckles down to the milky white skin of her lower back.

"It's a zip code." l trailed my hand down her spine and watched her reaction to my touch–how her muscles shifted and goosebumps spread.

"Okay … will I have to look it up or will you tell me for what area and why?"

I moved the sheets down further until I could see the firm flesh of her ass.

"It's not important." I licked her neck and blew against the wet patch of skin.

"Please."

It wasn't really a big secret.

"It's my dad's zip code … where I was born. The landfill borough, the great garbage heap—Staten Island."

She stopped my attempts to distract her by turning to face me and interlacing her hand with mine.

"Why do you call it that?"

"Simple—because that's what it is."

"But not anymore, right?"

"No, the landfill is no longer open if that's what you mean. That doesn't make it any less of a landfill. Now it's just covered by grass. Any more questions?"

She huffed. "Do your parents still live there?" I dug my head down to kiss her left nipple, avoiding her inquisitive gaze and hopefully the question all together.

It wasn't that I was ashamed of where I came from. I just loathed her reaction whenever I did reveal more about myself than I normally would have. There was something in her eyes and the expression on her face that I couldn't quite identify, and it made me nervous. Subconsciously, maybe I was always afraid she'd discover something that would make her change her mind about me, leading her to turn and run. Only this time, it wouldn't be because of an old flame, and she wouldn't return.

"Edward!" She pulled my hair.

"What? That hurts by the way."

"Talk to me. Sometimes it seems like I know nothing about you. Do you know Kate asked me the other day where you were from and I couldn't give her an answer?" Bella looked at me with furrowed brows and eyes full of curiosity as if she was expecting some fascinating story. I hated to disappoint her.

"Well, now you know." I shrugged my shoulders. "And my dad still lives there." I kissed her between her brows. "My mom died when I was twelve—breast cancer."

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about. I was relieved when she died. She'd been sick for a long time at that point."

"That sounds awful."

"It was. Especially, of course, for her."

"Do you miss her?"

"No. My dad still does. He can't seem to move on." I used to hate him for it. "I don't dwell. Try not to remember."

"You don't want to remember your mother?" She looked confused.

I sighed, thinking how best to explain it to her without coming across as the uncaring bastard I possibly was.

"I barely remember when she was healthy. I know I should ... I have some memories of the years before she got sick, just not many. Most of the stuff I remember is from the time after. Don't get me wrong; I'm not suggesting she was a bad mother because she was sick. It's just …"

"Tell me."

I didn't want to, but I had the feeling she wouldn't let it go and would only bring it up again later. I turned to lie on my back. Staring at a fixed object somehow made it easier to talk about my mother. I'd discovered that trick when Carlisle, upon the school's insistence, had made me see a counselor after she'd died. Not talking at all had only lead to more forced sessions, I'd realized quickly, so I'd managed to find a way of talking about her without seeing the mixture of pity and distain in their eyes. I focused my sight on the aluminum blades of the ceiling fan and started.

"I got dropped off every other night at Emmett's house or with some other neighbors because my mom had to go back to the hospital. My father, he might as well have been sick too. He worked and took care of her. I barely saw him. After a while, it just felt like I didn't belong anywhere, like I didn't have a home. Emmett's mom helped, but they had their own stuff going on. His dad got sent to prison right around the time my mother first got sick. Five boys and no father—she had her hands full." And she truly did. Emmett and his brothers weren't exactly studious choirboys who never got into trouble.

"To prison? For what?"

I laughed. "Not sure. My guess would be something mob related."

"Oh." She paused. "Are you still friends with them?"

"Emmett and his family? Yeah. Why wouldn't I? Because his dad went to jail?"

"I didn't mean it like that." I chanced a glance in her direction and knew she wasn't lying. Her brown eyes looked back at me earnestly. "I'm just curious. I'd like to meet one of your friends some day. You know ... someone who's known you for a long time."

"Well, you're in luck then. Emmett's about the only friend I have."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"Trust me, it is."

"You have me."

"You are more than that." I turned to kiss her, figuring that the question and answer session was over.

"Do you remember your mother's funeral? I've never been to one." Her hands were playing with my hair.

"Never?" Over the course of my not much longer life span, I'd had to attend several, granted most of them were for people I'd barely known, like for Carlisle's friends or older neighbors.

"No. My dad's parents died before I was born and my mom's parents are still alive. Once a distant aunt died, but my dad hates going to funerals so he told my mom not to take me."

"I see."

"So tell me ... you're Catholic, right? Did they have an open casket?"

"Seriously? That's what you want to talk about?"

"Yeah," she admitted, shrugging one shoulder.

"Morbid curiosity." I smiled at her questions. "So, yes … open casket. Weird … though not as weird as having complete strangers, like people from my mom's old job and distant relatives come up to me and hug me before turning to my father and asking him what was wrong with me, why I wasn't crying. I couldn't. The person in the coffin was a stranger to me, just like them. Her face looked better than during the last couple of weeks of her life. Rosy cheeks and all. They put a wig on her head. I hated it. She'd lost her hair after her first round of chemo such a long time ago..."

I paused, trying to remember. "She used to wear a scarf with flowers on it on most days. Sometimes some hair grew back, but in odd patches. Dad got her the wig a year or two earlier when they knew the cancer had spread. She never wore it, complained that it was itchy. During the last months she didn't bother with the scarf anymore. She spent most of her last days wasting away in a hospice. My dad tried to keep her at home, but she wouldn't let him, argued with him until he dropped her off at this place that reeked of decay. Vanity disappeared together with the last shred of dignity." I closed my eyes to conjure up an image of my mother while she was still healthy, but drew a blank. "I can't remember what she looked like with hair."

When I stopped talking, Bella's lips were pressed together into a tight line and she blinked a couple of times. I didn't like it. It had all happened so long ago and it didn't really matter anymore.

"And yes, my parents were Catholic. I think my dad stopped going to church after she died. I was baptized and suffered through Catholic school, communion, and boring masses led by priests who were possibly lusting after the alter boys. What about you?" I chuckled, trying to lighten the mood.

"I'm nothing. My mother is a lapsed Episcopalian, though she still goes to church if my grandmother requests her presence. My dad makes fun of her for that. His mom was Presbyterian and made him go to Sunday school. He hated it. His dad, my grandfather, was Jewish, immigrated from Poland and changed the last name from Swanoswki to Swan. I guess marrying a WASP completed his new world transformation. I'm not sure my father believes in anything, but his business."

"What do you believe in?"

"I don't know."

She rolled on top of me and we held on to each other until we moved. Her hips first, then my hands, and then her fingers pressing into my chest.

~o0o~

Inevitably, the time came when the outside world and our past were all that seemed to matter. It was impossibly to hide for forever, time didn't stand still, and being honest came at a cost.

After some attempts to avoid her family, cancelling several dinners at which I was supposed to meet them, she showed up unannounced at my office one night and dragged me to her parents' house. I didn't get the urgency in meeting her family and I must admit, initially, I'd had the inkling that meeting them wouldn't bode well for me. My fears were unfounded—at least partially, it turned out.

Maybe the true reason behind my avoidance tactics was that I had no desire for her to meet Carlisle or even Emmett—at least not so soon.

I knew an introduction was unavoidable if I wanted to be with her. Selfishly, I just wanted to have some more blissful days of ignorance filled only with happy memories of her.

I'd successfully stalled until the leafs had begun falling rapidly and the mood at the office had started to become more somber with each day the Dow slipped a little lower while the November clouds thickened. My morning trips to the trading floor had stopped giving me the desired high.

"I thought you lived on Madison?" I asked when the car came to a stop in front a six-story, brick-faced townhouse on East 70th street.

"That was a side entrance to a friend's apartment building." She opened the door and stepped out.

"Wait a minute!" I grabbed her elbow before we reached the door. "Why?"

She turned to face me, the cool mask I remembered so well from when I first met her in place. "When we got in the car that night, I suddenly got the feeling I'd made a mistake. The way you acted … something didn't go the way it was supposed to. I was afraid you'd come looking for me." She shrugged her shoulders. "I knew I couldn't talk to you afterward. At least not for a while."

I felt betrayed. She'd taken extra precautions to hide from me and, at least initially, hadn't had the intention of even contacting me. While I'd been dreaming about a future with her, she'd schemed to evade me, cancel me out of her life as if I was nothing more than an insignificant acquaintance to her. I didn't bother letting her in on the feelings of resentment I harbored for a long time.

"Do you honestly think I'd have been stupid enough to stomp down the door to your parents' place?" I scoffed at her reason, neglecting to mention that I did wait in vain in front of what I thought was her office and actually did call her parents' house on several occasions. I didn't want to admit, not even to myself, exactly how agonizing I'd found her behavior.

"Maybe it would've been stupid, but also really romantic," she murmured, looking down at the grey pavement. I didn't understand her. _Still sometimes don't._

"You have some odd notions about romance." I felt bitterness creeping up from my gut, burning my insides.

"Can we go now? My dad hates when people are late." She huffed and attempted to free herself from my grip, still not looking at me.

During the following month, I learned that Charles Swan hated indeed nothing more than idle waiting around, but that never meant he had to be on time himself. He was either late or didn't bother showing. Well, unless, of course it was business.

I didn't know her father yet, or I'd have pointed out the irony in her words.

"I see. In that case … " I pulled her into the entrance of the building next door.

"Edward … no, come on!"

"Let's be just a little late."

I kissed her and she gave in, kissing me back slowly until we were both out of breath.

The first time I met Charles Swan, I formed an instant dislike to him. Who was I kidding, though? Nothing I'd ever heard about the man particularly endeared him to me. Sure, I'd envied some of his more risky career moves, yet the man himself failed to impress me.

Born as the only legitimate son to John C. Swan, Charles didn't have far to climb. His father had been the real social climber and even William Black, John's illegitimate lovechild, as I learned from Bella's mother, had to work harder to rise to a respectable position. Charles just amassed wealth; first through the firm and then by marrying Bella's mother, herself a trust fund child.

He'd inherited the reins over the private investment firm his father had founded roughly fifteen years prior to his demise at the relatively young age of twenty-five. Before Charles took over, the firm had managed to create a sizable income, but it was Charles' attraction of new clients that propelled the firm to powerhouse status.

By the late 1980s the private firm of Swan & Co. had become sought after by some extremely wealthy investors, which ensured the firm enough funds to enter into high stakes games, making Charles a rich man in the process. However, the real rainfall of clients and with it, his climb to the absolute top of the hedge fund world, came after Charles had successfully speculated on currency devaluations in the early nineties. Overnight, the firm had made close to two billion dollars. With the new clientele, and by branching out to new industries, came an unfathomable amount of wealth. By the time I first met him, he'd successfully climbed up to the top fifty of the Forbes' 100 list.

I couldn't say that he was ever impolite or hostile towards me; actually, the opposite was the case. But underneath the charm, compliments and friendly gestures, he was a man who sought to control everything and everybody in his life. If there was ever one thing I was incapable of, it was relinquishing control, which meant that we were on a head-on collision course from the minute we were introduced to each other.

"Ms. Swan," an attractive dirty blonde, possibly not much older than Bella, dressed in a black pencil skirt and beige sweater, greeted us as she opened the door.

Her clothing looked expensive for a housekeeper, that much I noticed the instant I met her, while something else about her eluded me for a while.

"Good evening, Bree." Bella stepped inside, tossing her jacket on a nearby chair.

"May I take your coat, sir?"

"Good evening. I'm Edward, by the way. And sure," I said, handing her my coat. "Thank you, Bree."

I followed Isabella down the hall, giving my surroundings a cursory glance. The floors were polished black and white stone, well maintained, original possibly. The paintings looked like solid investment pieces, most likely purchased by the elder Swan. The furniture had an old world style to it and was accentuated with Eastern porcelain pieces on side tables and fireplaces. Stepping into the Swan house felt like stepping into a well-maintained, privately curated museum: slightly cold, nice to look at, tastefully opulent and somewhat uncomfortable.

I trailed behind Bella into the front parlor where her mother greeted us.

"Good evening, honey." She walked over to her daughter, kissing her on each cheek. "I'm so excited that we finally get to meet the elusive new boyfriend."

"Mom, this is Edward Cullen," Isabella said in a polite, somewhat stiff tone.

"Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Swan." When she grasped my hand, she pulled until I leaned down to kiss her.

"My friends call me Tibby," she said with a dry chuckle.

Renee Tabatha Swan, or Tibby, as her friends called her, had the lithe figure of an athlete. Her choice of clothing was always classy with a modern twist. That night she wore a well-tailored black dress, which complimented her slim figure. Her jewelry was minimal and expensive. You could tell right off the bat that the woman had at least three employees on speed dial: an assistant/stylist, a cosmetic surgeon and a dermatologist.

What struck me first though wasn't her well-maintained facade; it was the stark contrast between her and her daughter. Tibby looked like the quintessential beauty queen; blonde, tall, long legs and with piercing blue eyes. Only on closer inspection did I notice the faint similarities between her and Bella, like the curve of her upper lip and the arch of her eyebrows.

Contrary to what Alice had told me about Bella's mother, I never thought Tibby was miserable.

_A habitual abuser of prescription drugs with enough discipline to appear sober when need be, a fanatic exercise junkie and dieter? Definitely. But at the core, she's content. She has no regrets about a career she didn't pursue or a love she didn't follow. The drugs are just for entertainment, not to hide some deep seeded pain at her lot in life. Personally, I think it's just hard for Alice to accept that someone could be happy leading a life like that._

"Where's Dad?" Bella asked while pouring herself a drink.

"He called. He'll try to be home soon, but we should start dinner without him. I'll tell Francis that we are ready to eat now that you are here."

I couldn't resist shooting Bella an amused glance. She grimaced and looked away quickly.

"So how did you two meet?" Tibby inquired, after the discussion about a charity dinner she'd organized ended.

"Edward works at Wohlfmann. We met at one of the firm outings."

"Is that so? See, I told you working for uncle Billy wouldn't be that bad." She winked at Bella before turning to me. "Billy is more fun than his dear brother, my husband, and he assured me he wouldn't give Bella a hard time working for him. Bella here wanted to spend the summer in DC with that boy. I told her why the hell would you want to spend your summer in that boring swamp?"

"Mom! Who cares?"

While I found her mother's comments amusing, Isabella certainly did not. She frowned at her.

"Why are you so upset, honey? Truthfully speaking I never really cared for Riley or that family. Did I tell you that Sheryl Lanier tried to contribute used clothing to Celeste's auction? She talks all day about the family's philanthropy, but when it comes time to pay up, she never contributes much." Bella rolled her eyes. "So cheap. And the clothes weren't anything special. It was just regular old stuff off the rack. I really-"

"How …? … Why?" Bella shook her head and sighed loudly. "I didn't date his mother. Can we please talk about something else? I'm sure Edward doesn't care to listen to this."

"Still tawdry and if you would have accepted his proposal you would have been stuck with her as your mother-in-law. Be happy. And her son was no prize either, darling." She smiled at her daughter who seemed to be grinding her teeth, her jaw tense.

"Funny, I always thought you and Sheryl got along splendidly," Bella retorted.

"Just because I think she lacks class doesn't mean I have to be rude to her." Tibby smirked and took sip from her glass of wine, leaving the maid to pick up her barely touched plate. "Don't you agree, Edward?" she asked, looking at me.

"I guess one doesn't necessitate the other. Though, to be honest, I'm possibly not terribly good at feigning enough interest to be polite. In fact, I've been called rude," I shot Bella a glance, "and impolite."

Tibby pursed her lips and took another sip from her wine glass. "I'm sure whoever said those things judged you too hastily. You don't strike me as rude at all. I imagine you to be rash on occasion, but that's a necessary quality for someone whose time is limited and valued."

"I take that as a compliment." I mustered a humorous smile.

My eyes wandered back to Bella quickly, who looked like she was ready to bolt out of the place. Clearly, she thought the evening wasn't going too well. I didn't mind it up until that point. Regrettably, her father showed up two minutes later.

He stalked into the room wearing a well-tailored pinstripe suit and with an early copy of the next day's _The Financial Times_tugged under his arm. I'd known what he looked like from his occasional TV appearances. He didn't make many; only once in a blue moon he'd appear on some financial show, spreading his wisdom. Mostly he'd been on the money with his predictions. He looked roughly the same in person, but had appeared somehow taller and more charismatic through the skewed vision of a lens. Judging by the look of his salt and pepper hair and his brown eyes, Bella had taken after his side of the family.

"Good evening, ladies." He sat down without bothering to introduce himself to me, and barked, "Francis, I don't want the salad. Just bring me the dinner. Medium rare, please!"

The maid who'd started serving the food earlier rushed back into the room, filled his glass with wine, and removed the salad plate.

"So what brings you home tonight?" he said, looking at his daughter with a fond smile before his eyes shifted over to me. "Oh! Darling, I'm sorry. I forgot. How rude of me! You must be Edward, correct?" He smiled at me broadly, but didn't move to get up.

"Yes, you guessed correct, sir," I answered, not bothering to move either.

"Call me Charles." He smiled at me for a second without actually meeting my eyes. "So my brother tells me you do great work over at Wohlfmann. He's impressed. How long have you been with the firm?"

"About six years. Give or take a couple of months."

His eyebrows rose. "Didn't bother with graduate school then? Personally, I think academia for our field is overrated. Your instincts are worth more than anything they can teach you locked up in an ivory tower. You can always hire yourself some math whiz to do predictions, but that's not a sure thing." Charles started cutting with force into his main course - filet mignon, bloody.

"Actually, Dad, Edward did go to grad school," Isabella interjected as Francis refilled my wine glass.

"Oh," he mumbled, chewing on his bloody meat.

"I didn't want to lose the opportunities that were presenting themselves at the time, so I worked while completing the degree on the side." I wouldn't have minded taking a year or two off to leisurely finish graduate school, and mostly I didn't care about missed opportunity so much as about missed income. The market was booming when I'd started school. There was no way I was walking away without partaking in a generous slice of the pie, nor could I have afforded not to be working at that point.

I didn't care for where the topic of conversation had steered the minute her father had entered the room. I'd always despised talking about work, even at work, and while I agreed with Charles to a certain extend, his blatant distaste for pure academia struck me as too brutish for comfort.

"I see. Well, done, I say." He washed his dinner down with wine and inspected me closely for the first time. "So tell me, what do you think of Wohlfmann's latest investments?"

"The real estate trusts?"

"Charles, I don't think this is neither the time, nor the place. Why don't you invite Edward to the club? You can talk shop over scotch and cigars, or whatever you do at that place," Tibby said with a fake smile on her face that would appear whenever she addressed her husband.

"I have a better idea. Do you play golf, Edward?"

"Yes, but not terribly well, I'm afraid."

"Excellent. How about next Sunday?" I had no desire to spend the day with him, but I sensed saying no outright would have been a faux pas that would have cost me dearly. So I bit my tongue and agreed.

The dinner continued with boring chatter, mostly about art. Before Tibby married Charles, she'd completed a PhD in art history and was well versed on the subject, much to the chagrin of the rest of us. She continued talking even after we'd retired from the dining room to the library, where Bree served us tea and sweets.

Occasionally, Tippy would stop in mid-sentence, shoot her daughter a disapproving look and say something along the lines of "you know those shortbread cookies are a high caloric food. It's all butter," or "you should consider drinking the coffee without milk."

To my amusement, Tibby's comments got the opposite reaction from Bella, who picked up another cookie out of protest and added an extra scoop of sugar to her coffee. I wished she'd respond to her father's comments like that.

Shortly past the obligatory after dinner drinks, I was itching to leave the place, practically suffocating by the exchanged pleasantries and the burning fireplace next to us. I also sensed Bella's discomfort. Before I could come up with a polite excuse for our early departure, Bella beat me to the punch.

She yawned once and got up just as the conversation about a Met exhibit had come to a stand still. "Dad, I think Edward and I are going to head home. I'll see you tomorrow at work."

She kissed her mother, who remained seated, goodbye, and I followed her example quickly.

"Honey, we need to meet next week to go shopping. Call me!"

"Sure, Mom." Bella smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"I'll walk you to the door," her father said, getting up from his leather chair and walking behind us into the foyer.

"Bella, while I remember … Riley came to the office today looking for you. I know you two didn't part on good terms, but keep in mind if he ever makes it into office, it might be nice to have him as friend, not as a foe."

"You can't be serious, Dad." She'd swung around from the door, staring at him with a furious expression on her face.

I couldn't say that I wasn't pleased by her response.

Charles chuckled. "But of course I am. I'm not telling you to become best friends, but do make sure that when you run into him again you maintain a civil conversation."

"I'll think about it," she answered with uncertainty in her voice.

"You know that's all I ask," he answered with a good-natured smile on his face, before hugging his daughter and turning to me.

"Edward, I'm giving a talk at a private institute next week. I would really like it, if you could join me." He patted me on the shoulder. "Be a darling and include Edward on the invite list when you send out the e-vite tomorrow, please," he instructed his daughter.

"Sure. Goodnight, Dad," she answered in a daze before turning and walking to the waiting Town Car. I was about to follow her swiftly, when I heard a female voice call my name.

"Edward ... Mr. Cullen?" I saw Bree step forward with my coat in hand. "Your coat."

"Thank you, Bree. Have a good night." I grabbed my coat and walked the three steps to the car.

"Mohammed, do you mind dropping me off at my place?" she requested, as I slammed the door shut behind me.

"You're not coming over?"

"Seems that way."

"I'm sorry, did I miss something?" I was irritated by the mention of Riley and her childish behavior only soured my mood further. "Did I do anything to upset you?" Sarcasm seeped into my voice, I couldn't help it.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Edward. I'm tired. That's all."

"Really?" I glanced at her carefully.

"Really." She gave me a petulant look before turning her head away.

"Well, that went smoothly," I said after a minute or two of silence.

"Yeah, other than my mother being a royal bitch."

I laughed. "I didn't mind her."

"Why would you? Apparently everyone with a double X chromosome seems to be absolutely mesmerized by you."

"So you are mad at me."

"No, I'm not."

"Right." I reached for her hand tentatively, but she moved it quickly to tuck her hair behind her ear.

"What did I do now?" I was tired and didn't want to fight, but I knew if I left it like that and let her step out of the car without clearing the air, I'd toss and turn for half the night.

"Just tell me. I honestly have no idea," I added when she didn't respond. My patience was wearing thin, and I was tempted to yell at her for neglecting to mention that Riley, the scumbag, still had the nerve to contact her. I wasn't keen on playing the role of the jealous boyfriend, so I swallowed it instead.

She sighed and suddenly leaned against my shoulder. "I'm sorry. It's not you … it's mostly my parents. I shouldn't have insisted on bringing you over tonight." I felt her arms wrap around me and her lips on my neck. "Visiting them always gets me in a bad mood. I just wanted to get it over with."

"It's okay. Don't worry about it." I pulled her closer into my arms.

"I bet you your father won't drag me to golf club."

"Highly unlikely." I laughed at the thought of my father on a golf course.

"I'm sorry he's trying to invite you to his boring speeches. Please don't feel obligated to go on my account." I knew she meant what she said, and while I had no intention of becoming Charles Swan's groupie, I also knew it wouldn't be smart to tick him off.

"It's fine. I might even enjoy myself if I can convince his daughter to attend as well."

"Well, that's the least I can do."

"Should we stop and buy some extra cookies?"

She laughed.

"Yeah, let's."

We stopped at a Citarella near her house and bought cookies, hot chocolate mix and ice cream. I wanted to tell her that I understood why she didn't care for her mother. Still, I couldn't see why she didn't have the same distaste for her father. Between the two of them, he was the more menacing one from that I could see.

When I opened the car door after our short stop, she pulled my hand. "Come on. We can walk from here." I closed the door and pulled her to my side as we strolled down Sixth Avenue to her block.

The air seemed unseasonably warm and we didn't hurry.

"You know that scar on my knee?"

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's the only one I have." I didn't get the significance of what she was trying to tell me, so I just raised my eyebrows questioningly.

"I fell plenty of times when I was a kid, Edward. I used to have an identical one on my chin, a patch of uneven skin on my hand from a burn wound, a red line over my eyebrow—they're all gone. My mother had her doctor laser and buffer them away. I know they're just scars, and I should be happy they're gone, but … I don't know. Sometimes I feel like this person I am now, is not really who I was meant to be." She leaned her head against my shoulder. "The only reason I kept the one on my knee is because I got it while she was on a spa retreat for three weeks, and I hid it from her when she came back. I was eleven. I was ecstatic when she didn't notice it and I got to keep it. I shouldn't have been. It didn't take her long to find something else that was wrong with me. I've been on a diet since I turned twelve. A new regimen every six months, trips to health resorts where all I was allowed to eat was raw vegetables, detox weeks on liquids, personal trainers to make sure nothing sagged before it's time – you name it, I've done it. When I turned sixteen, she took me to her plastic surgeon."

I chuckled and gave her a quick up and down sweep with my eyes.

"I didn't get anything done you ass!" She rolled her eyes at me, but smiled.

I kissed her on the head. "Just ignore her. Looks like you're doing it already."

We'd arrived in front of her building. I stepped in front of her, looking at her face illuminated by the light shining out from the lobby of her building and the faint glow of the streetlights. I traced her face with my fingers, noticing the perfect symmetry of her features and what a shame it would have been if anything had been altered. "You are beautiful. Forget what your mother told you." I pushed a wayward strand of hair out of her face and bent down to kiss her.

"I love you, Isabella Swan," I murmured into her hair. I could feel her freeze in my arms. "And I swear I'll love you even if you stuff your face with those cookies until you weigh two hundred pounds."

"Oh, please, you'd be embarrassed." She laughed, hitting my shoulder. "Just imagine what the girls in you office would say, 'there comes Edward and his heifer,' - no way! 'We all know why he's with _her_,' they'd probably whisper behind your back. I'm not going to let that happen. Trust me."

I cupped her face with my hands, forcing her to look me straight in the eyes. "Listen to me, don't ever think I'm with you because of who your father is or how much money he has, do you understand me?"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it." She kissed me quickly. "Forgive me?"

"Anything."

"Stay with me."

"I thought you were tired?" I teased.

"You want me to beg?"

I pulled her flush against me. "No, I'm all yours."

It was the first time I'd come up to her place.

"I banned my mother from the apartment. That's why there's barely any furniture. When I went away to college, she went overboard and I learned my lesson," she explained walking down a long corridor from the kitchen until we reached her bedroom door.

Her bedroom was plain. A queen size bed, a small desk, some books, a small nightstand with a photograph of her and her dad ringing the bell at the stock exchange together, and the painting I'd given her for her birthday were the only items in sight.

We moved slowly that night, taking our time, and barely making a sound. When she couldn't fall asleep after, I fed her spoonfuls of ice cream in the middle of the night while she talked.

"I'm sorry my dad mentioned ... " She sat on her knees, fiddling with the bed sheet wrapped around her chest. "I know I promised not mention him anymore. It's just … he keeps on coming by and calling me, babbling something about how it wasn't his fault, how this girl threw herself at him. I told him to leave me alone, but he doesn't get it. He must think I'm such a fool."

I placed the empty ice cream container on the floor next to the bed and pulled her under the cover with me. "Forget him. It's not your fault."

She sighed against my chest. "I used to think it was my mom's fault when my dad had affairs. I used to be so angry with her for not trying harder to stop him, for not punishing him when he came home with lipstick on his shirt, for not caring enough to please him all the time ... for pretending that everything was fine." She paused and I could feel the dampness of her tears on my skin. "And then I let it happen to me. I ignored his mysterious disappearance acts, the text messages from girls I didn't know … all his excuses. I didn't want to believe it. I was such an idiot."

"Don't cry, babe."

"Edward?"

"Yeah."

"Tell me again."

"What?"

"That you'll love me even if I'm fat."

"I love you."

"I love you, too."

I held her close to me, waiting until her breathing calmed and she fell asleep. Wide awake, I lay next to her, terrified that one day she'd find out how I'd set up Riley. I got the unsettling feeling she wouldn't forgive me for that one, ever. It wasn't that I hadn't realized the potential of arousing her wrath if she'd ever find out before, it was just that once I learned more about her, my interference seemed less and less like a success. Yes, I'd gotten what I wanted, but at what cost?

And as the morning hours drew near and I felt her move, I pressed her body tightly against me trying desperately to hold on. My hands roamed over her body greedily until she gave in and let me settle between her legs. That and the "love you," she whispered in my ear when I dropped her off at her office eased my worries, at least temporarily.

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**Thank you for reading. **

**Thanks to Irene I had some time to sit at home and write. The next chapter should follow soon. **


	17. Chapter 17

**Nowforruin betas this. THANK you. **

**Warning: By beta politely informed me that the switch from the past tense of the previous chapters to present tense in this chapter is jarring to read. I left this chapter in the present tense anyway so I'm one hundred percent to blame. I apologize if it is indeed horribly jarring. I wrote all "forward-flashes" to September 15, 2008 in the present tense and for consistency sake I'm sticking to it.**

Up until this chapter, most of the events transpired in 2007. Previous chapters with flashes forward to September 15, 2008 (also in present tense) can be found in the Prologue and Chapter 6 & 7 (at the end of the chapters, respectively).

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

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**16.**

_**September 15, 2008**_

When the clock above the bar strikes five to three, I toss back the rest of the beer, push a twenty on the dark counter and get off the bar stool. She usually gets home by four. I think I can use a shower and possibly some mouthwash before I face her.

My chest feels constricted as I think about what's ahead.

Still standing at the counter, I loosen my tie quickly, take it off and stuff it into the pocket of my suit jacket. I shrug off the jacket, undo the top buttons on my shirt and roll up the sleeves. I won't miss is wearing this monkey suit every day. I used to think of this uniform as a badge of honor. Now I think of it as a useless façade that's expensive to maintain.

I tug the box under my arm and carry it with me; I'm not sure why. It's full of useless shit Jessica grabbed in a hurry before collecting her own stuff; mostly plaques, certificates of acknowledgment, and pictures with the head honchos of a now defunct company.

I have few good memories of the place I used to slave away for and those I'll remember without the useless trinkets.

The bright sunlight blinds me as I step out of the bar. Once my eyes adjust, I find the nearest garbage bin. I prop the box up on its side and start tossing some of the stuff into the trash until my hand reaches two framed photographs.

One is a black and white portrait of Bella sitting on a beach chair next to a pool that seems to dip directly into the ocean. Her hair is hanging in loose curls around her shoulders, and she smiles broadly despite the fact that her back is burned from the sun and she's in pain. I took the picture during our stay to her parents' house on St. Barths on the last day before we had to head back to New York.

The vacation was a wash, not really a vacation at all. The time we spent on the island felt more like one annoyingly long social event with people I abhorred in attendance. Except, of course, for her. Only the day I took this picture and the one before were good, perfect almost. Her parents had to depart two days early, some emergency at the office, leaving us to our own devices. I still remember Charlie's choice parting words before he headed out to the small airport on the island to catch a plane to St. Martin.

"Son, you're not going to get anywhere by sitting on an island vacationing for more than a few days at a time. You are in your prime. This is not the time to relax."

He's past his prime and always tense.

I know one thing for certain—that's not going to me. I realized it a while ago.

Even back then, I wanted to politely advise him that I wasn't his son, and I was just dandy with where I was in my life. Hence, the comment was superfluous. I didn't, though. I nodded, smiled and walked away.

I don't have any regrets about not speaking my mind. I stare at the picture a while longer. Nothing I could say or do would make a difference to her father; I always knew that. My only regret is that I didn't take more time off from work. After all, the luxurious accommodations, the five star meals prepared by a private chef, the warm Caribbean sun in the middle of the winter, the pretty girl you love so much it hurts next to you—all sort of pointless if you don't have the time to appreciate and enjoy them. We stayed on the island for altogether five days. I should've taken two weeks off and told Bella to do the same.

_Would she have given in to my request?_

The other one is a family picture of sorts, taken on Christmas Eve last year. In it, Bella is sitting on my lap and her family surrounds us. The photograph was taken in front of the fireplace at their house in Aspen. Tibby is drunk, but you can't tell by looking at the color photograph. Her blonde hair looks impeccably coiffed and her posture is proper—straight spine, chin held up high. Her father has his usual fake smile plastered on his face sitting next to her on an antique chaise.

I kind of liked that trip … well better than the one to St. Barths anyway. Charlie left on the twenty-fifth, right after we opened up presents, and Tibby was busy skiing, meeting friends and spending time at a spa for the remainder of the trip.

Since we spent most of our time in the bedroom—the flight on the private jet, the house, heck, the picturesque surroundings—were a waste. I never cared about waste so long as it didn't cut into my bottom line and I still don't. I just notice it more. I think we went snowboarding twice. The second time, Bella promptly fell and sprained her ankle, once and for all ending all attempts to hit the slopes. I didn't want to go to Colorado when it first came up after Thanksgiving, but Bella insisted. "It's a family tradition," she told me. She has a distaste for money but is used to leading a life that requires nearly unlimited amounts at her disposal for things some people would consider frivolous. Sometimes I'm not sure she's completely aware of exactly how much money is involved in maintaining her lifestyle.

I keep the two pictures, but toss the rest of the box with its contents into the trash.

A bum wearing sneakers with holes so big you can see his toes reaches into the bin the minute I step back and fishes out some stupid crystal bowl I got as a gift some years back. The thing only served one purpose in my office: to collect dust. One man's trash is another man's treasure. It really is true. Just like one man's dream is another's nightmare.

I head home, cutting across 41st Street, going east. Across the street I see a guy walking, still carrying the same brown box I just tossed, while agitatedly talking on his cell phone. He must be well into his forties or he didn't age well. His hairline is receding and he has a gut. He looks up when we cross paths at the corner of Lex and nods in my direction. I don't know him. At least I think I don't, and the last thing I want to do is rehash with someone what just happened. I'm not sure what his position at Wohlfmann's was. He wasn't one of the really big fish or else I'd know him, but judging by his well-tailored suit, he wasn't one of the lower paid minions who really didn't know what hit them when they announced the closure of the office this morning. He's probably eager to complain to someone about the shitstorm he now, due to no fault of his own, finds himself caught up in. His mortgage needs to be paid, tuition for a private kindergarten's due, the Miss's therapy and private training sessions need to be settled and so on and so forth. You gotta maintain appearances, right?

I haven't exchanged one word with the guy, yet I have no trouble coming up with how this conversation would go.

I'm not sure I could maintain a polite, empathetic face while listening to him and so I cut the corner sharply and walk away.

I gave Jessica my personal cell number before I left and told her to call me if she needs a reference. I couldn't make her any promises, but told her I'd keep an eye out for her. I know I won't be able to hire her myself. Support staff won't be within our budget for a while, but maybe if we cut on other stuff we can swing it sooner.

She always was a reliable assistant. If I knew it would end this way last year when the job market was still viable, I would've given her a warning, a hint of sorts, to get out while she could. But I didn't know for certain. Not back then. And after last March, it wouldn't have mattered; she would have had a hard time finding another job after the first giant fell.

I had my doubts about the exact fate of the firm for a while. Truth be told, I was banking on another month worth of salary and a severance package from the buyer, none of which are in the cards now that the firm is in the hands of the federal bankruptcy judge. I couldn't have known precisely how the firm would go down. It hasn't happened before, at least not in recent memory, I tell myself.

I should have, though. I saw the balance sheets.

Charlie called the instant the last minute buyer fell through last Saturday.

"You gonna need a job, son," he announced with a chuckle. I didn't respond, but he kept on talking. I kind of had an inkling the buyer would back out. It was a rotten deal. "Why don't we meet tomorrow for a round of golf at Liberty National? We don't have go to for all eighteen holes-"

"I'm spending tomorrow with Bella."

"I see. Still not convinced that you'll be out of a job, eh?"

"With all due respect, it isn't a matter of conviction." What Charlie doesn't understand is that I was just biding my time at Wohlfmann until I milked them for as much as I could and I saw no need to enlighten him about my plans. I knew he wouldn't approve. It was always his way or the highway. "I simply have other plans," I stated as calmly as I could.

"Do those plans account for my daughter's well being? Because that's what I'm interested in."

"I don't make any plans without taking her best interest into consideration."

"Is that so..."

"Yes. If you'll excuse me now, I've to run. I'll see you next Friday."

Dinner with her parents next Friday … if she sticks with me. I'm starting to wonder if that really is one big _if_.

I greet the new doormen with a nod and take the elevator up to the apartment. Soon this won't be "my" apartment anymore. The contract is already signed and a closing date has been scheduled. After that, somebody else can call this place home. Add that to the growing list of things I haven't shared with her, and the _if_ gets bigger.

I open up the door and nearly stumble over Oliver. He doesn't move out of the way. Instead he jumps and stretches his claws into my pants, purring loudly. I used to yell at him, and try to kick him off, but that never deterred the bastard and when Bella caught me doing it, she was so pissed that she stopped talking to me for a good three hours. So now all I do is bend down, pull his paws away from my pants and carry him with me into the kitchen. All he wants is food. Preferably cold cuts and not the shit in the can Bella feeds him.

She found the cat on her first day at her new job teaching high school English in Brooklyn. She started that job the day she "officially" moved in with me. She has spent most nights at my place for the past six months or so.

She claimed the raggedy cat followed her to her subway entrance. I'm not sure whether I believe her. She tucked it into her bag and carried it with her home. Ever the grateful pet, the cat promptly pissed in her Louis Vuitton bag.

She tossed the bag, but kept the cat. Named it Oliver—after Oliver Twist.

There're fresh flowers standing in a glass vase on the dining room table and magazines clutter the coffee table in front of the sofa.

I have to hand it to her, once she did move in, after months of arguing, on my part mostly, she moved in completely.

I used to hate clutter, but the signs of her presence calm me, make me feel like I'm not alone anymore.

I take a quick shower and make myself some coffee. I need to be sober for the conversation I can no longer avoid. I also promised Jasper I'd come to Brooklyn tonight to start working on the project which has taken us months to get off the ground.

The iPhone Bella bought me a month ago starts ringing, and I'm relieved when I see who's calling.

"Hey. They installed the pipes and the still is working. We can get started tomorrow and should be able to roll out some product soon. Have you told her yet?" Jasper asks. I feel like a coward.

"No-"

"Fuck, Edward! I told you months ago to just tell her. Unless … you haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"Last time I checked the certificate of incorporation lists me as president and fifty percent shareholder, so no. I never had any intention working for her father. I just ..."

"Yeah, yeah, you haven't found the right moment to ask her if she's still on board with getting married given the fact that you won't be swimming in money." I resent the fact that he assumes Bella cares about money more than anybody else in this world.

"Shut up, Whitlock. You owe me. I need time. And while we're at it, let's set some boundaries—Bella is off limits if what you say could be interpreted to have even the slightest negative connotation. Are we clear?"

"Listen, hold your horses, Cullen. Has it occurred to you that what you are worried about are your own fears and worries rather than hers? I don't know her well enough to judge, but I don't think she cares half as much as you do about certain things. I'd also like to politely point out that time's run out!"

"I know. I'll see you around seven. Goodbye." I press the "end call" sign and slide the phone on the counter.

I ponder his words drinking the coffee, contemplating briefly whether I'm projecting my own demons onto her. I don't think I am. I'm afraid of becoming like her father … or maybe turning back into the person I used to be, someone who only cares about work and my own net gain.

And yeah, I'm afraid how she'll react to all the material things we'll lose … I'll lose as a consequence of the changes I've decided to make, but that's not all. It's only the tip of the iceberg.

What worries me most, if I'm honest with myself, is that if I tell her the truth and nothing but about everything, she'll be so boiling mad she'll consider throwing everything we have away because it's been tainted by my dishonesty and my shady plans, hatched in secret. I'd have an easier time selling her my plans—the severe cut of income in the short term and all that—if it wasn't for my utter lack of candor so far, I think.

If it's one thing that makes her skin crawl, it's deceit.

I'm also not sure how keen she is on me going into business with Jasper. Truth be told, if someone would have told me ten months ago I'd be starting a business with Jasper, I'd have told them to check themselves in at the next urgent care facility with a mental ward. They'd have to be certifiably crazy to think that I would ever be so stupid as to start a venture with that complete fuck-up. Now it seems like a way better option than working for her father to me.

Will she at least try to see it my way?

* * *

**Thank you for reading. **

**I apologize for the delay in updating. I took a vacation and started a new job…blah, blah, blah – all the boring RL stuff that can get in the way of indulging in my favorite addiction. I promise it won't happen again. **

**A very big thank you to Tiffanini for rec'ing this story on ADF. **


	18. Chapter 18

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**17.****  
**

_September 15, 2008_

_Of course, I get why she hates Jasper and I won't attempt to change her opinion about him. He has his shortcomings, but for our business venture, he's essential. I wouldn't try opening up a distillery and a restaurant without him. I hope I can maker her see that, make her realize that this is not the time to let moral judgments cloud your good senses._

__ ~o0o~

_November 2007_

The week of Thanksgiving had always been a relaxed week for me during which I managed to kick back a few with my dad and watch a game while the rest of the lemmings in the office tried to get their work finished before rushing off to get stuck at the airport or in traffic to leave town. Not that year though. That year, I was stressed.

Charlie had insisted Bella and I attend the family's Thanksgiving festivities at their house in Connecticut and stay there for the remainder of the weekend. I hadn't been looking forward to the trip to begin with, but had I known that I'd get stuck attending an impromptu golf outing with her father and his friends, I would have put up more of a fight. As it was, taking an entire four-day weekend off, something I hadn't done in several years, was forcing me to work straight through the previous weekend and every night until at least midnight during the week. I ended up spending half the nights alone on the sofa in my office instead of making it home.

Alice's call was just one small thing in a long list of things to stress me out that week, and maybe I'd have handled her with a bit more finesse had I not felt under pressure already. I knew right away when I saw Alice's number flashing across the screen what the call would be about. I hadn't spoken to her since Bella's breakup from Riley.

"I need your help with something," she said the minute I picked up the call.

"Okay. Do you want to meet for lunch?" I offered, though my instincts told me I'd be better off hanging up on her and blaming it on bad cell service.

"Yes. Meet me in thirty at Club 21."

"Fine."

The antiquated lunch place, a former speakeasy located in a townhouse, seemed like an odd choice for Alice, but lo-and-behold she blended right into the crowd of men in their mid-forties dressed in pinstripe suits. She was sitting at the bar wearing a demure black dress and prim black pumps more fitting for a day in one of the surrounding office towers than a girl on the run selling art.

"We're ready," she said to a server, who guided us around the tables covered with red and white checkered table cloths to the back section of the restaurant.

"So what made you pick this place?" I asked, browsing the overpriced country club classics menu looking for something that would get me out of there quickly.

"Decent dry Martini and a great burger."

"At thirty dollars a pop they better be."

We ordered our burgers and martinis, which were delivered quickly. I was itching to leave, in my head going over a deal I needed close and things that needed to be tightened up by the end of the day, and maybe I paid her inadvertently less attention than I should have.

"So, have you seen Jasper lately?" she started off.

"Yes, I have. Though I can't say I've talked to him lately, if that's what you really want to know." Ever since I'd gotten that call from Maria about his lackluster attendance record I'd made it a point to look for him on my routine morning walk through the trading floor.

"So he's been at work?"

"Yep. Every day."

She bit her lip and fiddled with her napkin in an uncharacteristically nervous manner. "It's just … he hasn't really gotten better, you know?"

"I'm not exactly sure what you are talking about. Jasper likes to work and party hard. I don't see the problem."

"You don't see the problem? He's out every night until the early morning hours, comes home to shower and sleep for three hours and then disappears again. That's if he comes home. His eyes are always bloodshot, he has a perpetually runny nose and he's lost at least ten pounds since I've met him." Her cheeks were flushed and she was looking at me with a furious expression on her face. "And you … you are just going to sit there and pretend like nothing is wrong?" Her voice had risen considerably and I didn't care for it. It took some restrain for me not to get up and walk away.

When I didn't immediately respond to her, but instead chose to dig into my burger, she continued, "Bella always said that there was something cold and calculating about you, but I never really saw it until now."

"I see." I took a closer look at her, noticing the heavy layer of make-up covering up the bags under her eyes. "So why don't we cut to the chase and you tell me what exactly you want me to do about Jasper's bad habits?" I asked despite the fact that I had no desire, nor any intention to get involved. I was banking on the fact that Alice would be pacified by some words of support, which was all I could muster.

She didn't answer me.

"What? You don't expect me to stage some sort of intervention where we all hold hands, sing Kumbaya and complain about the devastating effects Jasper's drug use has on us? I'm not -"

"No," she interjected quickly.

"No, what?"

"No, I don't want an intervention." She shook her head and took sip from her glass, her burger sitting untouched in front of her. "Not yet, anyway, and I wouldn't ask your help with that."

I shot her a questioning glance before I continued eating my lunch.

"At least not now. He hasn't hit bottom yet."

"Really? One would think from your tirade that he's past the bottom, sinking fast down to hell."

"You owe me, Edward," she reminded me as if that wasn't the only reason why I still listened to her. "So the least you can do is take my concerns seriously when I'm talking to you."

"Okay." I wiped my hands clean of the burger grease with the heavy napkin and tossed it on the plate. "Again, what do you want me to do to facilitate him hitting bottom, as you so nicely put it?"

"Well, from what you are telling me you might have a harder time doing your part than I expected. Still … it shouldn't be an impossible task."

"What?" I was losing patience fast.

"I need you to make sure Jasper gets fired," she said, looking me straight in the eyes with a dead serious expression on her face. Despite it, I couldn't help but laugh. "I'm serious."

"I see that," I said, amused.

"What are you going to do about it?"

The conversation had annoyed me before it began, but my annoyance reached its peak right at the moment. Sure, I'd relied on her help before, but I'd never asked her to do anything beyond some minor social engineering. I'd certainly never expected her to do my dirty work for me.

"You are aware that I'm not his boss?" I reminded Alice.

"So?" She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly as if her request was nothing more than an inconvenience.

"And even if I were, I'd need cause. Otherwise the HR department would chew me out."

"I doubt anybody would dare to do that."

"In all seriousness, how do you suggest I go about getting him fired? Never mind that I don't think it's a good idea."

"It's the fastest way. He would lack the funding to continue his habit. I doubt his parents have enough to pick up the tab. As for getting him fired, it can't be that difficult. Pick up an employee handbook and see what it says about drug use."

"You want me to plant drugs on him?" She didn't blink. "You're crazy."

"Whatever you think would work best."

"You know that might only get him mandatory counseling or rehab. And that's if they catch him," I argued. "Is that what you want anyway, mandatory rehab?"

"No. I don't. He has to come to that conclusion himself."

"I see. What makes you so sure he even has a problem? He's been coming to work … "

"Just because he's functioning doesn't make it any less of a problem."

I knew I had to promise her something to get off my back and so I did. "Listen, I'll see what I can do, but I can't guarantee anything."

"Fine."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Why do you care so much? I mean, you and Jasper—is that a permanent thing?" I hadn't seen them together since the summer.

"It was … it is. I don't know. I like him, and I can't let what happened to my mother happen to someone else I care about."

I should've realized that experiences such as Alice's didn't always make you wiser. Sometimes they had the opposite effect, leading you to rush to foolish conclusions not necessarily based on reality.

"I see. Have you talked to him about it?"

"Jeez, Edward. Of course I have. It's just, he's evasive and when I keep on bugging him, he tells me I'm imagining things, that he's just working a lot and sometimes takes a hit of something to keep him awake."

"I see."

To be honest, the whole idea that Jasper had a serious drug problem seemed far-fetched to me. Sure I'd occasionally seen him dabble with illicit substances, and a while back he'd looked disheveled for some days, but at the end of the day I never thought it was enough to suspect anything more serious. Jasper had always been a pragmatist. He maintained his lifestyle because it came as a perk with this gig, not because he was prone to self-destructive behavior. Leaving him unemployed wouldn't change anything. He wouldn't buy drugs with money he no longer had. Only Alice didn't see it that way.

"How are things with Bella?" Alice asked, cleverly switching gears.

"Great, actually."

"Did you ever tell her?"

"About what?"

"You know."

"I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Eventually she will find out."

"How so?"

"Relax. It's your story to tell, not mine. I doubt she'd appreciate my duplicity."

I didn't believe her.

Nor did I waste anytime worrying about her problem, and if I hadn't run into Jasper the very next day, I would've possibly forgotten about it for a while longer.

I caught up with Jasper on a trip to the restroom. I spotted him only because his wallet had slipped out of his trousers and was lying on the floor near the edge of the stall with his driver license staring right at you through a plastic cover. My guess was that he was taking an emergency toilet stall nap—an old trick half the people who worked long hours, while also entertaining clients at night, had down pat.

I wasn't particularly surprised when I found him there and banged on the stall door until I'd heard him scramble.

"What the fuck, Cullen?" he barked when he emerged. I chuckled.

"Just trying to avoid one of those pesky calls from Maria."

"She's in a meeting." He washed his hands and splashed water on his face.

"Long night?"

"Stupid question."

Leaning against the wall behind the sinks, I inspected his face for any of the signs Alice had mentioned. I couldn't detect them. He'd gotten a haircut and whatever substances he'd consumed last night, it didn't show in his eyes in the morning. He seemed sober.

"What did you do? I didn't see you around the office."

"No, but trust me, it was still work. They had some bozos flying in, and I got stuck taking them out."

"I'm sure you hated it."

"If you think I had a good time wining and dining two middle-aged brokers to convince them that a deal—with tranches where you can't even figure out the underlying securities bundled into the fuckers—is not only a good one, but great one, you must have your head farther up your ass than I thought you did," he said calmly, a mocking smirk playing on his lips.

"My condolences. You're right. That does sound miserable. I can try to get you more info, run a model of risk scenarios, if you tell me which class?"

"It's okay. I can handle it. Things are changing, and I'm not sure where this is headed. There's handholding and giving assurances involved in making sales these days. It's a new thing." He shook his head in disbelief. "I guess I'm not used to it." He paused, staring off into the distance. "Sometimes I feel like I'm lying to them, like I'm selling them the termite infested house or the car with the slipping transmission, you know?"

"It's a crapshoot. I doubt the stuff you're selling is worse than any of the other stuff out there."

Jasper shrugged his shoulders. "So … what have you been up to? Haven't seen you out in a while. Alice tells me she barely sees Bella these days. Something about how she never seems to get out of bed ... "

"Things have been good. I can't complain."

"Good for you. The girl has you on a tight leash, huh?"

"Actually, I was wondering what you're up to tonight?"

"Dinner at the Waverly Inn. The rest is still wide open. Care to join?"

I could've used a nice dinner with Bella and a good night's sleep. Going to the latest overpriced hotspot restaurant to stare at the crowd of over-styled buffoons really wasn't up my alley on a good night, never mind on one where I was dead tired. Still, I figured it was as good an opportunity as any to figure out for myself what exactly Jasper was up to. I trusted that once I'd gathered some information personally, I'd be able dissuade Alice from her mission.

"Sure."

"Call me when you get there. I'll have to let the hostess know to let you in. The food is mediocre but one of the clients wants to go people watching," he said rolling his eyes and opening up the glass door to walk away.

"I see. So who's coming?"

"To dinner, most likely just the client and you and I since I could only get reservations for a table of four, tops. Some other guys might join later."

"Okay. I'll see you later."

It was a stupid idea. On the car ride downtown I could barely keep my eyes open.

"Tell me again, why are we meeting here?" I asked Jasper as I pushed myself to the bar, the room stuffed to the brim with average looking girls dressed in expensive clothing, clutching their purses and guys pretending that they were above it all by dressing in last year's washed out shirt and frayed tweed jacket.

"I know. It's disgusting, isn't it? The meat on display is boring at best. Beats me what the old bozo gets out of seeing Graydon Carter dining."

"Where's the guy anyway?"

"I'm sending him a text as soon as we get seated."

After a twenty-minute wait at the bar we were shuffled into one of the rickety dining rooms off to the side. The client, a guy by the name of Bob, who repped a large institutional investor, which despite the meager market earnings as of late continued to invest heavily, waltzed into the restaurant shortly after. Bob was a heavy set guy who looked liked he'd be more at home in a run of the mill steak house than at the overcrowded hub for people who cared more about being seen at a place than actually eating decent food.

"Thanks so much for getting a table. I appreciate it," Bob said with a wide smile on his face, his rosy chubby cheeks shiny with sweat. "My wife read about this place in one of her magazines and said you better get me in here." He unbuttoned the straining blazer covering his fat middle and settled down next to Jasper.

The dinner conversation was predictable, though thankfully Bob spared us with any talk about business or worries about investments. Instead we had to listen to him whine about the cost of sending his three kids to college and how the feds were killing him with taxes.

"So what's on the menu for the rest of the night? I was hoping now we'll start the activities I won't report home about," he asked when he'd finished chomping down his pork chops.

I felt my BlackBerry buzz in my pocket just in time. I was looking for a quick way out and got up to take the call. Jasper had barely finished a bottle of beer and hadn't taken any suspiciously long trips to the bathroom. So far the evening had been a bust.

"Hey, babe," I answered when I was out of hearing distance.

"Hey. Where are you?"

"I'm out to dinner with a client-"

"Cullen, can you order car service?" Jasper yelled in the background.

"Is Jasper with you?"

"Yeah, we're about to head out of this place. I think he's heading to some bar next. Do you want me to come by your place?"

"I haven't been out in forever, Edward. How about I meet up with you guys?"

"I'm not sure that's a good idea. Listen, are you at home now?"

"Yeah, but-"

"I'm coming over then. I barely got any-"

"Cullen, we're ready to go." I felt Jasper's arm around my shoulder in a too familiar way as he mumbled in the direction of my phone, "Hi, Bella."

"Hey, Jasper."

I pushed Jasper's arm off my shoulder and walked outside. "Listen, I'm really tired. I'll just come over to your place."

"No, you're not. I'm leaving right now. Text me the address of whatever bar you're going to."

"No. Bella?" The line was dead already.

I breathed a premature sigh of relief when Jasper's first stop wasn't a strip club, but a harmless hotel bar in the Meatpacking district frequented mostly by the bridge and tunnel crowd. Accountants from New Jersey dressed in cheap suits and women wearing too much sparkle sat around on eighties style furniture while sipping pink drinks.

With some trepidation I texted Bella the address. Twenty minutes later she arrived with her roommate Kate in tow. Two other guys from the trading floor, whose names I couldn't remember after that night, had also joined the crowd.

"Do you think this is a good idea?" Jasper said when he saw her arriving. I didn't, but I hoped I'd be able to drag her back home after a drink or two.

"Jasper, I haven't seen you in forever. I'm going to call Alice and tell her to come," she suggested, hugging Jasper.

"Don't bother. She's busy. She had some dinner with a client to go to." I was certain that it was a lie. Bella bought it though.

Three drinks later, it started to dawn on me that my plan was not as easily executed. While I was bored of the place after five minutes, my tipsy girlfriend was enjoying herself and had no intention of leaving, and when Jasper announced that they were moving on to the next place, she was gung-ho on tagging along.

"I'm not sure it's the kind of place you'd wanna go to," he tried in vain to extricate himself.

"Take her home, Cullen," he whispered over his shoulder in my direction.

"Are you going to a strip club? I wanna go! I've never been to one," Kate shouted, her arm interlocked with Bella's.

"Yeah, I don't know whether that's a good idea." Jasper gave me another glance, but I knew better than to add my five cents.

"Whatever. We're going. Right, B?" Kate egged her on. _I never liked the girl. Vapid and stupid probably describes her best. _

"Yeah. Let's do it. We'll get there with or without you, Jasper," Bella said, grabbing her coat.

"I think your boyfriend might object."

"No, he won't." She smiled at me.

I had no energy left to argue with her, and I figured a short trip to one of the clubs would kill her curiosity. Ten minutes later, we'd all squeezed into the car I'd ordered from the firm's front desk earlier, traveling uptown with Bella, Bob, Jasper, the two traders and Kate. Seating was limited and Bella had crawled onto my lap when the argument started about which place to go to.

While Jasper's two colleagues wanted to stick with something more upscale within the borough, Bob wanted to visit a locale in the south Bronx that went by the classy name of Harry's Triangle. The thin girls with fake boobs who danced in most Manhattan clubs didn't do it for Bob, or so he claimed.

I was dead sober and wanted to go to bed, not to some rank strip club and definitely not to one that involved crossing a bridge. Even Jasper looked tired. I'd decided an hour before that I'd seen enough. All I had witnessed was a regular night out. Was it possible he snuck in a hit of something in the bathroom? Sure, yeah. But judging by the expression on his face, I didn't think so.

After some back and forth, we dropped Kate and the two traders off at the Penthouse Club. Bella had remained undeterred by the location or the name and insisted that we stay with Jasper. According to her, the grittier the better. She came to regret that comment.

Jasper, who knew where we were going next, shot me a warning glance. I ignored him.

Harry's Triangle in Hunts Point was a club far away from the well-lit streets of Manhattan in an area mostly occupied by junkyards. The streets surrounding the club were deserted except for some crackhead prostitutes and their pimps. The club was easy to find in the dark—the neon lit figure of a girl with her legs spread, forming a triangle, sat on top of the roof of the flat building that housed Harry's. It was the first thing you saw getting off the Bruckner.

Parked at the front entrance, Bella hesitated for the first time that night as she stepped out of the car.

"What? Too gritty all of a sudden?" Jasper taunted, waiting on the sidewalk.

"Come on, let's go home," I suggested.

"We just drove all the way out here," she mumbled and got out, following Bob who had already entered the place.

It was a dark pit populated by what looked like mid level drug dealers and tracksuit-clad mobster. The smell, a combination of Pine-Sol, cheap booze and stale smoke, almost made me gag. The one thing that wasn't devoid of taste was the music; rap with a decent beat came from the speakers. The girls, masquerading around in tacky underwear at least three sizes too small, had bored expressions on their painted faces. Three of them looked like they were well past the age where one could have politely referred to them as girls and all of them had the same disillusioned look in their eyes. They'd seen it all and smiling was not required for what they were doing.

"How the hell did you find this place?" I asked Jasper as we sat down in a booth.

"Some executive I knew a while back knew the owner, Harry." He pointed to some guy, no taller than five feet, standing near the bar in a shirt with ripped off arms.

"What can I say?"

"It's definitely not a place for clients with a taste for the finer things in life, but you'd be surprised how many idiots in thousand dollar suits I have to take here." He nodded in the direction of the owner who came walking over.

"What can I do you boys for?" Harry asked, pointedly ignoring Bella. He wore his presumably freshly dyed, dark hair slicked back, which accentuated his pockmarked face. Black tattoos that looked like he'd gotten them in the clink adorned his arms and neck. His most unattractive feature by far was his smile, which afforded you a glimpse of his bare gums.

"Can you bring us a bottle of tequila, Harry? Anybody caught your eye yet, Bob?"

To Bella's credit, she did a good job at maintaining a cool expression on her face until Jasper and Bob marched off to some back room for a private lap dance.

"I can't believe he's doing this," she murmured.

"What do you think they came here for?"

"But he has a girlfriend." The minute the words had left her mouth she knew that that was besides the point.

"Can we go now?" I asked, tired and ready to get out of there.

"How are they going to get home?" She glanced pointedly toward the door they'd disappeared through.

"I don't care, but I'll send Jasper a text and order another car."

While I was still on the phone with the a car service dispatcher, Jasper came busting out of the backroom with Bob hobbling behind him trying to zip up his pants in a hurry. The girl Bob had picked was just a few steps behind them screaming madly at the top of her lungs. Blood was dripping from her mouth and tears were streaming down her face.

Jasper charged toward Harry, handed him a wad of cash before turning around and looking for Bob. When he'd finally secured the button of his pants, Jasper grabbed him by the sleeve of his jacket and dragged him out of there swiftly. Not a minute later we were all stuffed in the car.

"Step on the gas, take the Third Avenue Bridge and get us of out of here. I'll toss you a yard if you can make it happen fast, " Jasper ordered the driver who pealed away from the sidewalk.

"Do you think she'll call the cops?" Bob asked rubbing his hands on his legs.

"I don't think so. Harry is pretty good about keeping them in check."

In record speed we got to midtown where we dropped Bob off at the Waldorf.

"What the hell did he do?" Bella asked the minute Bob had stepped out of the car.

"Before you start screaming at me, I didn't know that this is what he's into. I thought it was something harmless. Jeez. Turns out Bob's one of those kinky fuckers who gets off on strangling girls and smacking them around … from what I saw anyway. I had to pull him off of her. She freaked out on him-"

"Are you serious? We should call the police. This is completely irresponsible. That place should be closed down and that guy-"

"Shut up. No one is going to call the cops. And that place? Why the hell did you think I took him all the way up there? Are you really that naive? I can't believe-"

"That's enough, Jasper," I interrupted them.

Bella kept quiet for the five minute ride to my place.

"I can't believe this guy!" she started the minute we entered the elevator. "And I can't believe you're friends with someone like that."

"I'm not. And the last time I checked, you were the one who insisted we go along."

"That's not the point. I can't believe he takes these sick people up there. This is crazy. Did you see him pulling up his pants?"

I didn't respond.

"I thought that was …"

"Jeez, Bella. What do you want me to say, huh?"

"At least tell me you didn't know about this?"

"What? That Bob gets off on beating up women? No. Nor did I want to know for that matter. Let's just pretend this didn't happen."

"How can you say that? Someone should do something to prevent this from happening again. He could kill someone!"

"Someone should, but that someone won't be you or I." I looked at her worried face. "Relax, I'm sure he knows when to stop," I tried to assure her. I had no idea of course.

"Maybe I could go back there and convince her to file a report?"

"That woman wouldn't listen to you in a million years, so don't even think about trekking up there."

"You could help me."

"No way. Do me a favor and promise me to get that out of your head. There are social workers and cops out there to deal with problems like that. You have no idea what you'd get yourself involved in."

She gave me an indignant look, but I could tell she wasn't going to argue with me anymore.

"Promise me."

"Sure." She rolled her eyes at me. "I promise. Have you been to that place before?"

"Nope. Can't say I have."

"That was … I don't even know how to describe that place."

"Then don't."

"It was debasing."

I didn't respond. Instead I tossed my clothes on the floor and walked into the bathroom. I wasn't in the mood to apologize or appease.

"I should tell Alice," she said as I was brushing my teeth.

I rinsed the bad taste out of my mouth and followed her into the bedroom.

"Fine. Do what you must."

We went to bed that night leaving a wide expanse in the middle of the bed empty. Despite the distance, I fell asleep, mostly out of sheer exhaustion. I woke up in the morning with the weight of her arm wrapped securely over my chest, her slow, even breath on my neck and her legs intertwined with mine.

"Sorry," she whispered into my ear after she'd kissed me goodbye that morning.

"I'm sorry, too."

_September 15, 2008_

_I don't think she ever gave Alice a full report of what went down that night. If she would have, maybe Alice would have given up on the whole idea of Jasper and her sooner._

_I take my coffee cup and phone, walking out on the terrace, enjoying the view. It was the main draw for me when I bought this place. You can see the entire downtown Manhattan skyline from here. My eyes wander away from the downtown views to the Pepsi-Cola sign across the East River._

_I call the garage to get my car out for the trip to Brooklyn tonight. It's shortly past four. She should be home any minute now. _

* * *

**Thank you so very much for reading and I apologize for not replying to reviews for the last chapter. I'm working a lot these days and I figured getting the next chapter out would be a better sign of appreciation on my part than sending out responses.**

**I love hearing from you, so let me know what you think?**


	19. Chapter 19

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**18.  
**

_September 15, 2008__  
_  
I wonder how her father will react when he finds out about my complete exit from the banking world. Personally, I don't give a shit about his opinion, but Bella? Bella's a different story.

It's funny how she's not too fond of Jasper based on his apparent lack of morals considering her own father's actions aren't far off. At least Jasper did what he had to as part of his job, whereas her father has the luxury to make different choices.

As long as it gets him what he wants, anything goes for Charles Swan. I grant you, most of his flaws are more prominently on display when he's out and about with his old boys club; nothing is off limits then. Still, if she looked hard enough, she'd have to have to seen.

_November 2007_

"I'm almost done. I just have to finish this, so it's ready on Monday."

It was eight o'clock at night the day before Thanksgiving. Bella had been nagging me all day via phone and e-mail to get out of the office by seven thirty the latest to hit the road. Despite a fire drill called by one of the seniors, I'd actually made it out of there by seven forty-five; only, as it turned out, to be waiting for her at her dad's office because of the extra work he'd piled on her plate.

"It's fine," I told her.

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really. I understand." I was in no hurry to get up to her parents' house, so I sat back, drank the cup of coffee Bella had handed me when I walked in, and checked out my girl's legs as she strutted around in snake leather pumps with bright red soles.

"No, it's not okay." With a heavy sigh she dropped into the chair behind her desk. She stared intensely with furrowed brows at the computer screen until a guy in a grey suit knocked on her open door.

"Still working on that presentation?" he asked.

"Yes. I think some pages are missing …" she mumbled absentmindedly.

"Hi." He extended his hand toward me and I reluctantly got up. "James Renard."

"Edward Cullen." His hands were as cold as his pale blue eyes when he gripped my hand tightly for a second. Our eyes leveled briefly, both of us trying to gage the other. I couldn't detect much. The guy seemed void of any emotion.

"Listen, Isabella, why don't you get out of here? I'll finish that presentation," he suggested.

"I can't do that …" she started, shifting uncomfortably around her seat.

"Don't worry, we don't have to tell anyone about it. It will be our little secret." He leaned against the door leisurely, with a sly smile on his face. "Get out of here. I'm sure the drive up to your parents' will take a while."

She looked at him for a moment, still undecided on whether to accept his offer. I could tell she wanted to take him up on it, but her sense of obligation made her hesitate.

"I'll let my father know that you're taking over." Isabella had a tight-lipped smile on her face. My guess was that the experience of working with James hadn't always been a pleasant one. She didn't trust him. "Thank you so much. The file is saved on the s-drive."

"You are welcome. Have a happy holiday," James answered with his smile intact.

"Thanks. You, too."

"Are you sure? I don't mind waiting," I offered after James had left the office.

"No. It's okay." She sighed as she slipped out of her heels. "I'm horrible at pulling the stuff together. I don't know how to do the analysis … fuck, I can't even focus on writing a concise sentence that makes sense. I'm useless here."

Slipping on some flat shoes and pulling the strap of her bag over her shoulder, she walked to the door to exit.

"Let's just go."

Bella's mood was dampened for the rest of the evening, though she tried to hide it and put on a happy face, smiling at me and talking about random things.

"You are here early," Charles greeted us, shortly after we'd arrived at their Connecticut house. He was dressed in a silken robe, stepping out of the kitchen, just as I dropped our bags.

"Good evening, Edward. My wife and I are so pleased that you decided to you join us."

"My pleasure. Thank you for inviting me," I lied, hoping I was half convincing.

He nodded briefly in my direction before turning to his daughter.

"Bella, I thought you were finishing up the presentation? I'm assuming-"

"James volunteered to finish it," she admitted.

"But he wasn't supposed to. You can't always do this," he began his lecture.

"I know, I know... I have to carry my own weight. Can we not do this tonight?"

"Sure. You know how I feel about it already." He looked at her intently, and Bella held his gaze until Bree stepped unexpectedly out of the door behind him.

"Good evening," Bree murmured, stepping around Charles hesitantly almost as if she was afraid of him. "Belinda has made up the guestroom on the third floor for you two."

Bella remained frozen in place, staring at Bree.

"Thank you, Bree," I answered quickly. "It's been a long day. I think I'm going to hit the sheets. Bella?" She glanced up at me, a confused expression on her face, as if she hadn't heard a word I'd said. I grabbed our bags with one hand and began tugging her up the stairs to our left with my other. "Good night."

She didn't put up much resistance and slumped onto the bed the minute we entered the room.

"I can't believe he brought her here."

"Who? Bree?"

"Yeah. Who else could I possibly be referring to?" She shot me an annoyed glance.

"Okay. I get it."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. Maybe we should have gone to your dad's place for Thanksgiving. Would have saved us the drive and left me with enough time to finish the work," she back peddled.

"Next time." I was starting to get the feeling that my quiet father, who seemed for the most part lost in his own thoughts, or even the friends I had from my old neighborhood, would been better company. I pushed lightly on her shoulders, making her fall back down on the bed. "For now … let's see whether we can make you feel better."

She chuckled.

"Edward."

"What?"

"Is that all you ever think about?" she murmured, but kissed me eagerly.

Any distraction I could provide was only a temporary one. Late at night, she lay awake worrying.

"I should have finished the work." She tossed and turned next to me.

"Honestly?"

"Mmm?" She raised her eyebrows, waiting for my response.

"I think you need to get the hell out of there and find another job. Something you like doing." I pulled her close to me. "Maybe contact the people at Random House?"

"I don't know. I think that ship has sailed. I only got the offer because my dad knew one of the senior editors."

"Then look for something on your own. You'll figure it out. You already have the apartment, so rent is no longer an issue. What you're doing now, you can't do forever. It will give you an ulcer."

"Tell me about it." She laughed, before becoming serious again. "What about my dad? I'm not sure he'd take my resignation well."

The fact that she gave him that much consideration seemed idiotic to me. It wasn't like the guy was losing sleep over what he was doing to his own child. Just one look at her while at his office should've told him how miserable she was.

"He'll get over it eventually."

"He said I could take time off to work on the Obama campaign. Maybe I should do that."

I laughed. "Change, ra, ra, ra. Really?" I had a feeling that dear Charles had already made some sweet campaign contributions, buying him access.

She pinched me.

"What's that for?"

"Your comment."

"Is that what you really want to do? Political campaigning? I'm not saying the guy's not likable and smart; I'm just wondering whether that's really your thing. Yours, not your father's. Besides, I'd think he has an eager team of volunteers already on staff."

"I don't know what I want anymore career wise. At the moment, anything seems better than what I'm doing now. Plus, I do think he's an excellent candidate, and the campaign is still looking for volunteers for the primary. Who knows? Maybe it will be a good experience for me. And I'm all for change."

"Think about it, is all I'm saying." Political campaigning during a primary involved traveling and the thought of her spending time on the road away from me was even less appealing than her killing herself at her current job to make her dad happy.

I was never an entirely selfless creature.

"So, is there any reason why we're not staying in your old room?"

"This is my old room. My mom had it converted into a guest room last summer. I told her I didn't care. I wasn't planning on living here again."

"Too bad."

"Why?"

"I was looking forward to some embarrassing mementos. To be honest, it's the only reason I agreed to come along."

~o0o~

Thanksgiving dinner the next day was fraught with drama. Not that I hadn't expected it. Some mild family feud fueled by too much to drink and stories of past wrongs were usually on the menu. And to some extend, I didn't mind it. Watching various members of her family argue and fight was enlightening, bordering on entertaining. With servants running around carrying platters of appetizers and drinks, women dressed in cashmere and silk and men smoking cigars, the affair resembled comfortable bourgeois bliss. Underneath it though, tensions were starting to flare long before dinner was served.

Charles' mistress standing in the background, making sure enough servers were circling the room, was just one thing disturbing the holiday cheers. Bella seemed in a bad mood the minute she spotted her and even for Tibby, who always took her husbands extramarital affairs with a resigned shrug of her shoulders, Bree's presence seemed a little too close for comfort. She kept a steady eye on Bree and ordered her to pitch in with the serving. It was obvious was payback for having the gall to be there. I doubted Bree had had a choice in the matter.

Billy Black, Charles' half-brother, was present as well, and aside from some genetic material, Charles and he seemed to share little in common. For one, Billy was a staunch Republican and Charles a Democrat, but their dislikes for each other ran deeper than different views about health care reform and defense spending.

Billy, who'd inherited a trust fund, but was never acknowledged as an "official" heir by the elder Swan, had a chip on his shoulder, a grudge so deep that turned him boiling mad when he felt under attack, even if everyone else perceived it as nothing more than chatter. His political views provided ample fodder for Charles to rile him up about. Incidentally, his family background was probably also the reason why he was drawn to the conservative worldview.

Charles, on the other hand, had the laid back and sometimes condescending attitude often displayed by people whose believe in their superior intellect could never be shaken. He teased his brother whenever the chance arose and did so with a perfectly calm demeanor.

"You have to admit that the levee failure in New Orleans and the collapsing bridge of Minneapolis serve as perfect symbols for the Republican tenure: mismanagement and incompetence," Charles commented with a smile on his face before the first bird was cut.

"I don't think it's fair to exploit natural disasters, such as Katrina, for political purposes. And don't you dare suggest that they would have been averted if only John Kerry had won the last election. That's ludicrous to suggest."

"Well," he continued with a chuckle, "it's not that I suggested that one election would have prevented a hurricane from hitting the coast. However, this natural disaster, as you described it, would have wrecked far less havoc if your party were ready to commit to public infrastructure projects. And surely you must see that the Bush administration's failure to appoint competent people at least prolonged, if not created, the following real disaster. Dear Brownie's appearances made for great TV, but I'm not sure his ignorance helped with the situation at hand."

I saw why his approval meant a lot to Bella. Charles Swan espoused all the ideals she believed in.

The conversation turned more aggressive once the main course was consumed, and by the time desert was served Billy's voice had risen by several octaves and his face was nearly purple. But Charles wasn't done yet.

"So Billy, about that real estate trusts Wohlfmann just bought. Do you honestly thing that was a smart investment?" he continued with a smirk on his face.

"Obviously we do believe that the market will balance itself out and in the long run we believe you can never go wrong with real estate."

"Really?" Charles corked one eyebrow up and shifted his gaze in my direction. "How do you feel about it, Edward?"

"I'm not sure that I have any 'feelings' on the matter. Do I think it was a wise investment? I don't know. That remains to be seen. The markets are volatile."

I stopped short of making any predictions that would have upset Billy further. He was, after all, a couple of notches higher in the firm hierarchy than me. Charles chuckled at my comment.

"I agree with you. Purely based on rational thinking then, buying some credit default swaps would be a good idea, don't you think?"

"Possibly." Privately, I thought that betting against the market by buying some decent insurance would be a solid investment. Just how solid it would have been, I didn't figure out until later. Charles just narrowed his eyes once and returned his focus to Billy.

"Like always, I think Wohlfmann is behind the curve on that. But looking at the leadership, well ... that doesn't surprise me." Charles licked his desert spoon clean and took a sip from his coffee to wash the pie down.

Of course for Wohlfmann to buy credit default swaps for mortgage backed derivatives directly, while continuing to sell the very same securities to its customers, would have presented some ethical challenges. I was certain though that neither Billy, nor his colleagues, would have cared about that. At the end of the day Charles was correct. Wohlfmann's leadership was just not smart enough to wisen up and change their course as the times demanded.

Billy didn't respond anymore and excused himself shortly after the desert plates were cleared.

The rest of the evening continued without much fanfare, and before I could find a good excuse as to why I couldn't go golfing, I got stuck on a private plane to Georgia the next morning for a trip with Charles and some of his closer business buddies.

It was Charles' first attempt to show me the ropes. Tippy and Bella weren't up yet when we left the house. Only Bree saw us off, which earned her a smack on the ass from Charles. In the beginning, I thought she wasn't invited to come along for appearance's sake more than anything else, but that turned out to be a miscalculation on my part.

Charles and his best buddies, one a partner of a whiteshoe law firm and two CEOs, pretty much bestowed their attention on anything with a skirt. Most of the women — like the stewardesses on the private plane, the waitresses at the gulf club and the girl behind the reception desk at the hotel — were addressed invariably with "sweetie" or "honey", something they'd incidentally never dare do at the their offices. After some friendly prodding, some of girls were invited to drinks and dinner and, with not so subtle hints, coached into their hotel rooms. To my best estimates, I was the only guy on this trip who spent the night alone.

As if that wasn't depressing enough, shoptalk on the course was worse than anything I'd previously experienced. Random mention of non-public business information was more prevalent than at any casual industry event; the only difference being that the caddies obviously hadn't taken a crash course on insider trading, nor had they signed a confidentially agreement to the best of my knowledge before the outing.

Not that it mattered to me, personally. If they were clever enough to trade on the 411 shared, good for them.

"You should think about investing on the side," Charles mentioned after his buddy Harry had informed him about a forthcoming patent application by the pharmaceutical company he was heading. "Just to make a little extra."

"I'll think about it." I always tried to be diplomatic when Charles bestowed his wisdom on me. I never actually took any action. Not because I was scared of the SEC, though I definitely had heard that jail was not a nice place to be. No. I just didn't see the appeal of it. I never considered myself particularly greedy, though some people might have said that was debatable. Either way, I made enough that my own portfolio was respectable. Pulling cheap tricks for something more seemed superfluous to me.

Charles, on the other hand, never had enough and always viewed himself as above the law. He did get slapped, some years prior to that, with a conviction for insider trading in France, but it didn't come with any time attached and the actual fines were more of a nuisance, a stain on his reputation, than they were a serious burden to him.

When we finally returned to Connecticut on Saturday night, I had to restrain myself from pulling Bella back into the car with me and driving as far away from her parents' house as I could get. I couldn't say whether she sensed that I wanted to get out, or whether she herself had had her share of Swan family bliss, when she suggested the next morning, right after we got up, to hit the road immediately.

I never told her what happened during that trip to Georgia.

_Even if she'd asked, I'd have been hesitant to give her the full story._

* * *

**Thank you for reading! **


	20. Chapter 20

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**19.**

_September 15, 2008__  
_  
I finish my cup of coffee and collect some paperwork. I'm antsy, pacing around my apartment.

I glance at my watch impatiently. It's nearly four-thirty in the afternoon.

Walking around the apartment, my eyes are searching and my mind starts wondering whether she has been home already, maybe left a note somewhere before she ran out again for some errand. But I find nothing. The sneakers she wore this morning, storming out of the apartment because she's perpetually running late, are still missing.

It occurs to me right then that her silence, the complete absence of any attempts to contact me, is odd. By now she probably has heard of the lay-offs … the office closure. Usually she calls during her lunch break or texts me in between classes, even when there's nothing important going on.

Today, nothing.

I call her cell phone, but get her voice mail. I send her a text.

_Are you on your way home? I miss u. - E_

The message strikes me as sounding whiny and pathetic. Fuck it. It's too late. I've already hit send.

I grab my phone in a hurry without checking the screen when it vibrates.

"Bella?"

"No, Mr. Cullen. It's Jose." When I don't answer, he continues, "From the garage?"

"Oh, yes. Right. I called. I'll need the car by around seven. No hurry."

"The Mercedes, I'm assuming."

"Sure. Either car is fine."

"The Mercedes then. Your fiancée took the BMW earlier."

"Excuse me?"

She hardly ever drives and never to Brooklyn. She almost got into an accident on her first day at work. Driving across the bridge gives her vertigo she said. Ever since then, she's been taking the train.

"You mean this morning?"

"No. She came by not too long ago and picked up the car."

"When exactly, Jose?"

"I don't know, sir," he stammers.

"Just try to remember." I try to stay calm.

"It was after my lunch, so maybe about one-thirty or two o'clock?"

I hang up the phone and call her number again. No answer.

I flip through my contacts and find the number to her school. I've never called the number before. I get some automated system. I hit zero until the phone starts ringing.

The school is probably closed, the secretary gone home.

"Harry van Arsdale Jr. High School," a shrill voice answers after what seems like a never ending number of rings.

"Good afternoon." I wonder whether she'll even give me the information I'm looking for. I wish we were married already, that when she joked about just eloping, I'd have taken her up on it. I didn't, though, and now I don't have leg to stand on requesting information. "I'm Isabella Swan's fiancé. I've been expecting her back home, but she's not returned yet. As you can imagine, I'm a little alarmed, and I was wondering whether there's some meeting or after school project she forgot to tell me about?"

"Hang on a minute, will ya?" she mumbles.

"Sure."

I hear papers being shuffled around, some chair squeaking and a drawer being opened before she returns to the line. "Yes. Okay. Just as I thought. Ms. Swan went home early today. She said she had a family emergency she needed to attend to. We cancelled her last class. Anything else I can help you with?"

"No," I answer, my mind racing to what family emergency she could be talking about. "Thank you." I hang up the phone and, without much thought, I call her parents' house.

No one picks up. This has never happened before at the Swan residence. Never. The girl who replaced Bree, another mousy blonde whose name I can't remember, or one of the maids usually picks up. Sometimes Tibby does.

I contemplate calling Alice, but I'm pretty certain they haven't spoken to each other since Jasper and Alice broke up. They had a fight right after that, from what I gathered from Bella. Bella never gave me the details about their falling out, except to say that she has no use in her life for friends who are not on her side. I didn't exactly try to pry more information from her. In the end, I was glad that there was no reason for me to deal with Alice anymore.

No. Alice wouldn't know anything.

I try Tibby's cell phone.

She picks up on the first ring. "Hello?"

"Hi. It's Edward."

"What?"

"Edward?" I hear a static sound in the line.

"Yes."

After some garbled sounds, I hear her again. "I'm about to go through the Midtown tunnel. I'll call you when I get home, Edward," she coos.

From what I can gather from the sound of Tibby's voice, no horrible family tragedy has occurred. She sounds as relaxed as ever, probably on her third lunch martini already.

I hang up, grab my keys and run to the garage one block away.

"Mr. Cullen." A guy, dressed in a dark blue uniform, scrambles out of his booth when he sees me. The white tag with black cursive writing tells me that this is Jose. "I thought you didn't need the car until seven?"

"I'm sorry. Change of plans. Is there a way you could get it now?"

"Yes. I've already pulled it down from its usual spot. I can have it here for you in five minutes?"

"Thanks."

I wait, staring at the clock in the small booth of the garage. It's almost five now. Something is definitely wrong.

I toss Jose the twenty I find crumbled in the back pocket of my jeans and jump into the car. I drive two blocks west and get two blocks up Third before I almost smack into a jaywalking pedestrian. I'm in no condition to drive. I should have cabbed it.

I drive around the block of her parents' house three times without finding a spot. I pull up to the pump and decide to take my chances. The ticket would be the least of my problems at this point.

I ring the doorbell several times. Nobody opens it. I slump down near the front door, half-expecting the cop walking by to question me, but then Tibby's car pulls up. The chauffeur opens up her door and she steps out with smile on her face, dressed in a red wrap and high heels.

Bella must have lied. There's no family emergency happening as we speak, no one's in a hospital bed and no one has died.

"Hey, Edward. How are you?" She kisses me on both cheeks, before opening up the door. "The new girl … what's her name?" She struts ahead.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, I can never remember her name either. Well, never mind. She took a day off, and the new cleaning service crew doesn't answer the phone. Do you want a drink?"

"I'm good. Thank you." I follow her into the front parlor.

Despite my declining her offer for a drink, she pours me a scotch and hands it to me.

"Sit," she instructs.

"I'm fine standing. Listen, Tibby, I'm sorry to bother you, but have you heard from Bella today?" I try to sound casual.

She shoots me an amused glance, her eyebrows raised. "Why? Did you guys have a lover's quarrel?"

I chuckle. "No. Not exactly."

"I didn't think so. So what can I help you with?"

"I'm sorry to come barging in on you. I guess you can't. Bella left her job early today, asking to be excused due to a family emergency. I've been trying to call her, but she doesn't pick up. So I got concerned."

"I see." She furrows her brows in concentration. "I can assure you that I'm not aware of any emergency, and I haven't spoken to her since last Saturday. Did she plan on running any errands for the wedding? I tried to convince her just last week to hire some more people, so she didn't have to attend to everything herself. Maybe she's playing hooky or taking care of some stuff?"

"I don't know … I doubt she'd leave work early for that."

"Yeah, you're right." Tibby smiles. "That sounds like something I would have done. Bella, of course, inherited her father's work ethic."

I toss back the scotch and deposit the empty glass on the tray. "Speaking of the devil, do you think I should try calling his office?"

"I doubt she's there. Either way, I'd avoid the place if I were you. Just go home. I'm sure she'll be back soon." She leans back against the bar with one arm stretched out, inspecting me with her drink in the other hand.

"Why is that? I mean, why shouldn't I try his office?" I ask, despite that I do have a clue as to why I would be ill advised of me to seek out a place where I'd run into Charles.

Tibby rolls her eyes, almost the same way Bella usually does. "You're a smart guy. You know why. I actually thought you were here to talk to me about that."

"About what?"

"You know …" She shrugs her shoulders. "How to handle Charles when you encounter him again … later on? I mean outside of the confines of family events, where he's forced to maintain some civility for Bella's sake."

"I doubt he and I will spend much time in the same circles in the future."

"So you don't have a job lined up with a competitor? Or another bank?"

"No." I laugh. She furrows her brows, looking confused. She seems genuinely surprised by that tidbit of information, something that rarely happens to her.

"Mmmmh. I don't know why this surprises me." Tibby shakes her head and purses her lips. "Good for you. You don't mind if I don't immediately enlighten my dear husband, or as you affectionately refer to him—the devil—about the fact that you're not intending to join the competition, do you?"

"I'm sorry. I guess it slipped. But no, feel free to keep it on the Q.T."

"Oh, nothing to be sorry about. You know you and I are on the same page on that one."

I know we are. Ever since Valentine's Day to be specific.

_Valentine's Day 2008_

It was the last time I saw Bree.

Bella had joined the Obama campaign in late December and had been traveling pretty much non-stop from that point on, as the candidates battled over the primaries, which meant I only saw her on weekends, if I was lucky. By the time Super Tuesday came around, I was so pissed I voted, half out of spite, half because I did believe she was the better candidate, for Ms. Clinton.

I arranged a weekend trip to Paris during which I planned to propose to her. It was one thing for her to be traveling on a bus full of idealistic morons who, I was certain, couldn't wait to get their hands on her, but another one to let this madness continue without at least a ring on her finger.

I trusted her. I just didn't trust anybody else.

So on Valentine's Day, the day she was due to return from the latest primary stop in Virginia, I dropped by the Swan home to take Tibby with me to shop for the ring. I didn't expect her to be so eager for me to propose, but it turned out she was and insisted on helping me pick a ring. I'd called her initially to figure out whether she'd planned anything for the weekend after with Bella, and when I told her I was booking a hotel for a weekend get-away, she'd figured out my proposal plans.

The woman does have a sixth sense about a certain things.

I arrived at the house around lunch time, only to find it empty aside from Bree, who answered the door hunched over as if in pain.

"What's wrong?" I asked immediately, but she straightened up quickly.

"It's nothing." She waived her hand and tried to smile. "Just an upset stomach. Please come in."

I didn't believe her, but didn't want to intrude. I was lounging around the foyer, responding to e-mails via my BlackBerry, when I heard something shatter and walked over to where the sound came from. I found Bree in the kitchen, surrounded by shards of white porcelain, lying on the floor, both of her arms clutching her middle.

I knelt down next to her and called nine-one-one without thinking.

"Don't," she begged as I gave the operator the address. She was barely conscious.

"Listen, you need a doctor."

"It's nothing." She tried to get up and ended up cutting herself on a shard of porcelain. Judging by the color of her skin and the blood I saw seeping through her pants, it was best to ignore her protests.

"It's okay," I assured her.

I picked her up and carried her to the sofa, before she could cut herself any further, staining my shirt in the process. The ambulance, followed by Tibby, arrived shortly thereafter.

"What's happening?" Tibby asked after they loaded Bree into the back of the waiting ambulance.

"She collapsed. I don't know."

"Sir, are you the one that called nine-one-one?" one of the EMT's requested.

"Yes."

"We're taking her to New York Presbyterian on East 68th. I was hoping someone who can provide us with her medical info, just in case she loses consciousness completely, could come."

"I'll see whether I can get in touch with any relative or friend," I told him, already taking a step back toward the front door to search for Bree's cell phone.

"I am her employer. I will come along," Tibby offered abruptly, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Do you mind coming along?" she said, turning toward me.

Five minutes later, I was sitting next to Tibby in the back of her limo. With perfect composure, she picked her cell out of her Birkin once the car door closed and phoned her husband.

"Charles, I have some unfortunate news. Bree collapsed, and she's on her way to the hospital now via ambulance." She paused. I could hear him yelling, but couldn't make out the exact words. "Never mind that. I had to call an ambulance. She was unconscious when I came home. Plus there was lots of blood." She huffed in irritation. "Now, is there anything I should know? Anything I need to inform the doctors about? Anything that would save them time and point them in the right direction," she lied seamlessly. "I see." She paused again. I could no longer discern a voice at the other end. "Thank you. I will handle it from here."

She hung up the phone and glanced at me. "I left you out of this. I will impress on Bree to do the same. The less people officially know about it, the better. Silly girl was rather lax with the birth control, and when Charles didn't like the end result … " She shook her head. "Well, you get the gist."

When I narrowed my eyes for a second, thinking about how to respond to her, she gave me a wry smile. "I will of course make sure he takes care of her adequately. She shouldn't have to work again considering how long she put up with him."

We arrived at the hospital shortly after, where we found out that Bree had suffered hemorrhaging after what should have been a routine abortion procedure. I visited her briefly before I left that day. Like Tibby, she was trying to convince me that it was for the best if I pretended I hadn't been there. She also didn't want Bella to know about it.

I told her I couldn't make that promise.

"Please. She doesn't need to know."

I nodded and walked out of the room.

Not even an hour later, after a short stop at a Brooks Brother's to buy a clean, new shirt, I was sitting with Tibby at Harry Winston's picking out Bella's ring.

I barely looked at the selection, only handing out my card when it came time to pay.

"So, what are your plans, if you don't mind me asking?" Tibby asks, jolting me back to the present.

"Starting something new. Nothing to do with the world of finance." The more I think about the idea of Charles Swan actually being concerned that I join his competition in some shape or form, the more idiotic it seems to me; both the idea that I'd continue down this path, and the notion that he worries about having me as a competitor, are ridiculous. I guess I should feel flattered. "Anyway, he's nothing to worry about."

"Well, I'm sure Bella is thrilled. I think she always viewed your profession as your biggest shortcoming."

I smile. "I think I better get going, see whether I can find her. She took the car out. For all I know she's already caused a pile-up," I joke and move to get out of there.

"Okay. Don't let me keep you." I walk out of the parlor into the front hall. "And Edward?" I hear Tibby call after me.

"Yeah?" She's standing in the doorway, looking in my direction when I turn around.

"Tell her to give me a call when you see her. I have something I need to discuss with her."

"Will do," I say, half out the front door.

Turning in the direction of my car, I notice that the spot in front of the hydrant is empty. Glancing up, I see the tow truck turning the corner.

I run after it, but I'm too late. The driver doesn't even see me and so the car is gone. I pad my pockets, realizing quickly that aside from two cell phones, there's nothing in them. Apparently I've given my last cash as a tip to Jose. I must have left my wallet at home.

I scroll through my contacts. Kate moved to San Francisco last month, shortly after Bella moved in with me and rented out her apartment, so she's going to be of no use. I find Jake's number and hit call.

"What's up? Did you get the pink slip like everyone else?" He's chuckling. I don't mind.

"Nothing much. And yep, I sure did."

"Congratulations?"

"I can go with that."

"Okay. Good for you. Are you out for good?"

"Yeah, that's it for me. Listen, have you heard from Bella today? She left school early, telling them something about a family emergency and hasn't come home yet."

"No. Sorry, man, haven't heard from her."

"Okay, thanks."

"Edward?"

"Let's grab drinks soon."

"Sure thing. Later."

I hang up and consider my options. I could go home, resigning myself to the fact that I can't do anything, aside from waiting for her. I'd fucking crawl up the walls though, sitting there doing nothing. It doesn't sound appealing.

I scroll to Alice's number. Bella is forgiving, after all. Still, it's probably a long shot, which is possibly not going to get me anywhere, but walking by her father's office seems like an even dumber idea.


	21. Chapter 21

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**20.**

_September 15, 2008_

Alice doesn't pick up. I don't leave a message.

Hitting Fifth and crossing the street to walk along the park, I smell burned bread and charcoal coming from the pretzel stand; it's making me salivate, reminding me that I haven't eaten since five o'clock this morning.

I press call again and hear some noise at the other end of the line, indicating that someone has picked up.

"Alice?"

"Why are you calling me?"

I consider hanging up, doing what she obviously wants me to.

"Listen-"

"No, you listen. The last time we met you called me mentally unstable, in urgent need of some meds, so why the fuck are you calling me?"

"I'm sorry." I don't know what else to say. I feel a tinge apologetic for calling her crazy, but she was wearing my patience thin last winter with her mission to get Jasper fired in the hopes that they'd live happily ever after.

"I don't know if I can believe you."

"I am. I shouldn't have said those things."

"Okay. I'm sorry, too."

"About Jasper? Nothing to be sorry about. It worked out fine, at least in some respects." I don't go as far as telling her about my business venture with Jasper.

She sights loudly. I'm not sure whether it's because I mentioned Jasper or something else. "So how have you been? I heard what happened today. You're going to be okay though, right?"

"I'll be fine." I pause, suddenly wavering whether bringing up Bella is a good idea. "So I haven't been able to reach Bella all day. I know you guys had a fight a while back, but …"

"Yes?"

"I was wondering whether you've heard from her?"

"No, I haven't. In fact, I haven't spoken to her since January."

"I see. Well, okay, then." I've officially run out of things to say.

"So you two are still together?" she asks after what seems like a long pause.

"Yeah, of course," I answer quickly. "Why wouldn't we be?"

"You're right. Never mind," she answers quickly. I want to ask her more questions, but before I can, she continues, "Well, I really have to run. Bye, Edward."

"Sure."

The line goes silent.

I call Bella again. I leave her a voice mail message telling her I love her and to call me as soon as she gets it.

The feeling that I'm missing some piece of the puzzle, something that would point me in the right direction, is getting stronger.

Alice. I should have asked her more questions.

Right before Christmas last year, she started calling me incessantly, sometimes four or five times a day. She even showed up at a Wohlfmann holiday party.

~o0o~

_December 2007_

When I walked late into the restaurant where the party was held with the intention of making the rounds quickly and disappearing, I spotted Jasper standing near the bar with Alice clutching his arm tightly. I talked to some of the big wigs first to get it out of the way, and then made my way over to the table where Jasper and Alice had been seated.

"Happy holidays," I said, clinking Jasper's glass. "Do you mind if I take this seat?"

"No, not at all," Alice answered with a smile on her face.

"One down, two more to go. Cheers to that." Jasper raised his glass and chucked back the contents, referring to the two other holiday parties we still had to attend.

"Come on guys! This isn't so bad. At least they didn't skimp on the food," Alice commented with a too cheery attitude, digging with a mother of pearl spoon into the black goo.

"I can't wait till January," Jasper noted. Not only were the holiday festivities done with, but it was also bonus time.

"Me neither," I agreed.

"You're over it?" Jasper looked at me with a curious smile on his face.

"I'm going to run to the girl's room. Edward, will you still be here for a minute? I want to talk to you."

"Sure." I watched Alice walk away.

"Sooo … you are thinking about switching firms?" Jasper leaned closer when she was gone.

"I don't know." I shrugged my shoulders.

He nodded. We both started staring at Alice, who'd emerged from the restroom quickly and was making her way back to where we were sitting. Thankfully some girl, a couple of table away from us, held her up for a while.

"I don't know how to get rid of her, anymore. She's become my tail," Jasper lamented.

I laughed. "Do you want to? Get rid of her, I mean."

"She's nagging me all day. Drink less … do this, do that. She goes through my medicine cabinet searching for God knows what. I can't fucking take it anymore. She wants us to move in together. Don't get me wrong—Alice's nice and I'm sure she means well—but this ain't for me. Not now and maybe not ever."

"Maybe you should let her, you know, in on that."

"I tried, but, man, she doesn't get the hint."

I agreed with him silently, downed another drink, listened to some banter and got up thirty minutes later to head out.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said to Jasper.

"Sure."

"Alice." I nodded in her direction, hoping to escape another discussion about Jasper.

However, before I managed to get my coat, Alice was at my heel. "Edward, wait!"

"What now, Alice?"

"Have you found out anything? I feel like I'm putting my life on hold to deal with this …"

"Do me a favor, just live it."

"What the hell? Don't you think I want to?"

"Alice, I can't help you with this, do you hear me?"

"I can't believe you'd do this to me."

"I'm not doing anything to you. You're doing this to yourself. For the record, I doubt he has a problem. At least it's not what you think it is. So can you just lay off and let it go?"

"How would you know? You don't live with him. I see all the symptoms and have experience with this."

"Alice, go see a shrink. I don't know … get some Prozac. This is nuts. You're nuts." Before she could respond, I said, "Good night," and walked out the door, straight into my waiting car.

I'd had it. I shut all my phones off that night and decided to ignore her from then on. If she chose to tell Bella anything, I'd deal with it when it happened.

Fortunately Alice got what she wanted without me lifting a finger, and so it never came to that. At least that was what I'd thought ...

About two days after that holiday party, I noticed a security guard in front of Maria's office. I knocked on the door, ignored the guy and walked inside.

Maria was standing behind her desk putting framed pictures into a brown box. She looked tired, but as put together as always, wearing a tight black suit, with her long, black hair straightened and impeccably applied makeup.

"What happened?" I asked, despite the fact that it was obvious.

"Get your head out of your ass, Cullen, and stop asking dumb questions for which you already know the answers," she snapped.

"Did you get a decent package?" I closed the door behind me, earning me a nasty look from the security guard.

"I'll be fine. It's not me you should be concerned about."

I raised my eyebrows questioningly. She sighed.

"You gotta know this is just the beginning."

"Why did they sack you, if you don't mind me asking? Your division being scrapped?"

"Not for now, from what I know." She straightened herself and looked me squarely in the eyes. "You've been working on those trusts, right? I saw your name on one of the e-mails," she explained.

"So you already know I do."

"Did they seem like a good investment to you?"

"Not particularly."

"Yeah, I didn't think so either. I think some other people have the same view, but let's just say I made the mistake of mentioning it to Sam." Maria sat down in the chair behind her desk, and mechanically started removing the few personal items she'd stored on her desk and loading them into another box.

I sat down in a chair across from her. "Nobody else said anything?"

"Yeah, two other guys did. One of them was sent packing two weeks ago. The other one was getting his paperwork right before me."

"What exactly did you say?"

"I warned them. I told them anything with mortgage-based derivatives would soon become toxic—heck, it already is—and paying premium for real estate deals right now was the wrong move. It's a deal with a fat tail."

"I agree." I'd done the analysis myself. "That's all you said to them?"

"Yes."

"I see."

"Want my advice?" she asked.

"Not particularly."

"How could I forget?" she said with a wry smile on her lips. "I'm talking to the know-it-all wonder boy who can't be defeated." I didn't respond and she shook her head. "You're probably right not to take advice from me. You're like a cat; you'll land on your feet, I'm sure."

"Just how bad do you think it will get?"

"Bad. There won't be a reversal. At least, I highly doubt it. I'd start watching the firm's balance sheet."

"Yeah, I'm starting to get the feeling, too. How long?"

"Before they start chopping?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe a month. They'll give them the bonus as a payout."

We both got up and I started to exit the door.

"It's been a pleasure," I said. "Keep in touch?"

"I'll see you around, I'm sure."

Had it not been for the fact that I'd early on learned when to keep my trap shut, I would have been in the same position Maria found herself in and maybe that would've been a good thing. From what I heard later on, she was shrewd enough to negotiate a sweet golden parachute for herself, which was no small feat.

Upon returning to my office, I sent Alice a text, telling her she'd get what she wanted by the end of January, and then I did what I possibly should've started months earlier: I gradually dumped all my company stock. When the stock started tumbling in the late spring, I'd already gotten rid of most of my shares.

I wasn't too far off on my estimate about Jasper's lay-off. His whole division was eliminated after one furious sell off that sent the market temporarily plummeting in mid-January. He received nearly a million as a bonus and wasn't too concerned when they told him it would be his last day.

"What are your plans now? Moving in with your girl to save money?" I asked him, half-joking, over a drink after work on his last day.

"Hell, no. First step will be to get rid of the tail. Second will be to take a vacation."

"You're leaving town?"

"Just for a week or two. Visiting my family in Texas. Haven't had a chance to do that in forever. Don't worry, I'll be back."

"Yeah?"

"Don't look so surprised."

"I'm not."

"I'm looking for some sort of business to start. Just haven't figured out what."

"What?" I laughed. "Don't tell me you're going to start a food truck?"

One of the lawyers working in compliance had done so six months earlier, and Jasper and I had both harpooned her idea.

"Honestly?" Jasper turned to me with a serious expression on his face. "I'm tired of playing the game. I've made some money, saved up some. I don't know … food truck? restaurant? It all doesn't sound like such bad idea anymore."

"Mmm, maybe. Let me know if you know what you're doing, all right?"

"Sure."

True to his word, Jasper dumped Alice the next day and boarded a flight to Texas. Bella went over to Alice's place to console her over a bottle of Patron. I didn't expect her back until late and was surprised when I found her sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine in her hand when I came home from the office around ten.

"Hey." I tossed my stuff on the floor and walked over to her, happy about finding her on my sofa. We were still in the in-between phase where she hadn't moved in with me. "Alice, okay?" I asked.

"Not really." She turned the volume of the TV down as I slumped down next to her.

"Shouldn't you be consoling her?"

"We had a fight."

"About what?"

"Stupid stuff. I don't have any use for people who're never on my side. I don't want to talk about it," she whispered and kissed me. "I think I want to focus my attention on someone else today."

Straddling me, working to undo my tie with agile fingers, she distracted me quickly.

"I can't complain about that." I slid my hands up her legs.

"Stressful day at work?" she asked, unbuttoning my shirt.

"Not too bad." She unzipped my pants and reached inside. "And getting better." I sat back and relaxed, feeling the day melt away into obliviousness.

Two days later she left to join her group on the campaign trail and between the stress at the office, which was mounting by the day, and the daily grind of her new assignment, we never talked about it again.

~o0o~

My phone rings and I grab it hastily, hoping it's her.

"Bella?"

"Nope." I hear a familiar, deep laugh. "It's just me."

"What's up Emmett?" I want him to get to the point and off the phone.

"Not much. Just wanted to see how you were doing and whether you've got everything under control."

"I'm fine," I answer tersely. He knows what I've planned, and I told him what was likely coming.

"And Rose wanted to know whether Bella and you would wanna come over next weekend for a barbecue? I think she wants to offer Bella her help with the wedding and all. You know Rosie. She loves that kinda of stuff. Flowers, food... Well, you get what I'm saying."

"I've to talk to Bella about it. I'll let you know. I gotta run now, okay?"

"Okay, talk to you later."

A chuckle escapes me as I hang up the phone. I've reached Fifty-Ninth Street and sit down on a green park bench. If it's one thing Bella would definitely not be keen on, it's help from Rose. She tries to be polite whenever she sees Rose, but truthfully speaking she has nothing in common with her.

I think it was obvious from the moment they were introduced to each other on Super Bowl Sunday last February. Emmett had been bugging me for weeks to bring Bella over for dinner and so I finally relented.

Dinner with Carlise in December had gone smoothly. He liked her immediately.

"I like her. She's a solid girl who knows what she wants. You can rely on her. It's important," he told me when I walked him to his car, padding me on the shoulder. "And you love her."

What seemed funny to me wasn't that he was able to detect so quickly how I felt about her, but that he saw qualities in her I'd never noticed.

Our afternoon at Emmett's wasn't a disaster. They got along fine and I didn't expect Bella to become best buddies with Rose. They were from two different worlds. Rose barely finished community college and never wanted anything but to have kids and take care of them.

Bella hardly said more than ten words during the afternoon, moving around the plastic covered sofa in awkward silence, while Emmett told tales of our youth. I tried my best to humor him.

In an effort to be friendly with Rose, Bella even went to get her nails done one afternoon with her, only to come back home with a bottle of nail polish remover in hand to wipe the rhinestones off her fingernails.

"Honestly?" she said to me with resigned sigh. "I just don't get her. All she talks about is what Emmett is going to buy her and how she hopes you're paying for the shoes I'm wearing. Oh, and kids of course! And who the hell would want all this gunk on their nails?"

Scrawling down the list of numbers in my phone, I notice how few friends Bella has. I'm wondering whether this was always the case or whether I have something to do with it.

When the phone rings again, I check the screen. It's nobody from my contact list, but judging by the number, someone is calling me from Charles Swan's office.

* * *

**Where the hell is Bella, right? Mmmm.**

**The very sweet and kind DreamOfTheEndless nominated Crash for a Sunflower Award under the category Best Drama. If you're enjoying this tale and think it merits your vote, here's where you can do so: **

**sunflowerawards(dot)blogspot(dot)com  
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	22. Chapter 22

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**21.**

_September 15, 2008_

I hesitate, staring at the vibrating phone in my hand, but then answer the call.

"Yes?"

"Mr. Cullen?"

"Speaking."

"This is Leah, Mr. Swan's assistant. He was wondering whether you'd be available for a brief meeting?"

"When?"

She puts me on old hold; _WCBS AM 880_plays in the background. The host and various analysts, of course, are discussing the latest and, so far biggest, collapse.

"Right now would work, if you're available."

Another pointless discussion about an offer I've already declined is ahead. The old man is persistently difficult. Still, I don't need him to be permanently ticked-off at me. Not now.

"Mr. Cullen?" she interrupts my train of thought. "If you don't mind coming over right now, Mr. Swan would love to see you."

"Fine. I'll be there in ten minutes." I regret the words the minute they come out. It feels like he said jump and I answered how high.

I call home while sprinting across the street and only to get the answer machine. She's still not back … or she's not answering the phone. Crossing 59th Street, heading west to 7th Avenue, I call the front desk of the building. The doorman hasn't seen her enter and has been on his shift since twelve o'clock.

As I'm about try calling her cell number again, the phone dies on me.

I search my pocket for the BlackBerry.

_"Service on this line has been cancelled. Please contact the service provider …"_I toss it in the trash and run the next few blocks to Charles' office.

Security downstairs calls up to announce my arrival and the receptionist on the thirty-third floor greets me with a smile, letting me pass without calling anybody. When I get to the cubicle in front of Charles' office, Leah stops me.

"Mr. Cullen, I'm sorry. He's on the phone right now. It was an urgent call from the London office. He had to take it." She gets up and walks over to me, her expression blank. She's dressed in a pants suit with a turtleneck shirt underneath despite the balmy temperature outside. Showing skin's not Leah's style, which must be why she's kept her job for so long.

At first, I pegged her as playing for the other team, but Bella vehemently denied it. "The love of her life left her and, yes, he was a man," she told me with an eye roll. "Only they can be so fickle."

"It shouldn't take too long. You can wait in the conference room over here," Leah continues. She walks ahead to the large room occupied by the customary table and chairs with me following reluctantly. The lights and air adjust as we enter. "Would you like some coffee or maybe some water while you wait?"

"No, thanks."

"Again, he's very sorry. He'll be right with you," she repeats and leaves.

Whatever he's keeping me waiting for, it's not a call from his London office, unless they're now working on a 24-hour shift.

"Edward?"

I turn around and see James Renard, the sly, sneaky bastard, standing in the door.

"James. How are you?" I nod and we shake hands briefly.

"Soooo ... will you be joining us?"

"I've no interest in joining the company."

He chuckles dryly. "You're out for good." The guy has always had a sixth sense about things.

"Yeah, I guess you could say that."

"Mmmh …" He's eying me carefully. Obviously, he wants to chat more. He's fishing for something. Being rude to him would be stupid, the wrong move. So I wait for his next question. "So why are you here then?"

"To be frank, I have no idea. His assistant called me-"

"And it would be bad form to ignore the future father-in-law."

"Yes, but I'm starting to think maybe I should've," I admit.

"If I were you, I'd play nice. Particularly since his sphere of influence is expanding by the day. Who knows, one of these days you may need him. Plus, he'll be family."

"No shit." I care neither for the conspiratorially tone of his voice nor the advice he doles out. Aside from growing up in the working class neighborhoods of the outer boroughs with blue-collar fathers, we have nothing in common.

"Your wife adores him, and he has his fingers in almost everything."

"Not news to me."

"I know." He shrugs his shoulders and leans back against the doorframe. "But did you also know he's now funding five political campaigns all at the same time, including that of the senator your dear friend works for? What's his name again?" He pauses for a second as if pondering the name. He's not fooling anyone, though. "Riley, correct?"

"You and me both know that he's no friend of mine." He thinks he has me by the balls.

"Don't worry. Nobody saw you. As far as I'm concerned, he got what he deserved, and I'm wouldn't share that information. It wouldn't be in my interest at this point. To be frank, I hate him just as much as you do. Well, maybe not quite as much," he hedges. "After all, when it comes to affairs of the heart, everything is amplified. Passion distorts things."

"Tell that whoever wants to listen. Frankly, I don't give a damn. What's Riley to you anyway?"

"Let's just say if the political career doesn't pan out—and we both already know he has several skeletons in his closet, so it's not a matter of_ if_ but _when_—on which door do you think he'll be knocking for a gig?" I stare at him for a second. James is a long term planner.

"I get it. You don't want any competition in this office. Particularly not after you've done such an excellent job of being in the right spot at the right time."

"Hell will freeze over before I let that happen," he answers with a serene smile on his face. James will walk over corpses to get what he wants, and he likes to play politics, something I've never developed a taste for.

"I see. Well, rest assured, I'll be out of the picture."

"I don't know about that." He seems to contemplate something that I can't quite fathom. "But for now, I guess you are." He waits for a second. "Well, I better get back to work. I'll see you around?"

"Have a good night."

I don't know why James didn't share what he witnessed that night. It doesn't make much sense to me, but I'm sure, as with everything, he has a plan.

~o0o~

_March 2008_

"I hate this dress." She was turning, inspecting her ass in the large mirror in her bedroom when I looked up from my BlackBerry.

"It looks good on you," I assured her, relaxing back into the wicker chair, waiting, as always too tired to pay attention or too preoccupied with work.

"I look horrible in it."

"You look beautiful." I didn't need to look up again to be certain of that. The dress didn't matter, though it didn't look half bad. It was a pink satin Oscar de la Renta; Tibby had bought it. It came delivered in a box with the invite to her father's birthday party.

"Sometimes, I don't know who I am anymore. This isn't me."

When I finally looked up, I saw her standing in the same spot, scratching her chest, red streaks and blotches already visible, and tears rolling down her face. I got up quickly and pulled her into my arms, unsure of what to say.

"Come on, let's get you something else to wear." I sat her down on the bed and carefully undressed her. I found a simple black dress in the back of her closet that didn't have too many zippers and covered up the area of her skin she'd scratched open.

"Babe?" She was staring blankly off in the distance when I was done dressing her. "Let's get you to the bathroom. You'll need to wash your face."

Without looking at me, she got up and walked to the bathroom. Ten minutes later, she emerged on shaky legs, her face clean but paler than usual.

To this day, I get mad when I think about it. She never said so, but she didn't want to go. I should've read between the lines.

Her father's sixtieth birthday bash was lavish, yet restrained. There were no Grammy winning artists singing "Happy Birthday" and no gold brimmed champagne glasses. Tibby had secured a space at the Four Seasons and invited about a hundred guests, all close friends and family she reported. For industry standards, it was tame.

During the party, Bella stuck close to my side, making no attempt to mingle and only talking to Jake once. I barely took notice of her behavior as anything out of the ordinary at first, until I discovered Riley sitting with his family at another table and wondered whether his presence had anything to with her strange reticence. I glanced in his direction briefly and then went on to ignore him, hoping to avoid an encounter.

The five-course meal went by quickly, and I thought I'd dogged the bullet when she told me she wanted to leave.

"Sure. Let's go."

"Bella?" I heard his voice coming from behind me as I rose from my chair.

"Good evening," she answered.

"Do you have a minute to talk?" he asked, touching her elbow in a too familiar fashion.

"There's nothing to talk about." She pulled her arm out of his reach and picked up her bag from table.

"Good evening," I greeted him with a smile on my face, wrapping my arm around her waist. He huffed and looked away for second before narrowing his eyes. He'd recognized me, I was certain, not that it mattered. I highly doubted he'd ever suspected me behind his escort encounter. "I'm sorry, but we're about to leave."

"Bella, you owe me at least that," he continued undeterred as I tried to tow her away.

"I don't owe you anything. Please don't make a scene," she replied in a low, perfectly calm voice.

"Fine. I'll call you." I exhaled in relief, as he turned and strode away.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, as we crossed the room.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"I blocked his number."

"Nice."

At the coat check, Bella excused herself to go to the restroom.

"I'll wait outside," I told her.

Smoking a cigarette to pass the time, I was waiting near the front entrance for her, when Riley came storming out. I wasn't sure whether he was leaving or looking for someone, but when he noticed me, he marched right up to me, squaring his narrow shoulders in front of me, presumably in an effort to make himself seem bigger than he was.

"Just who I was looking for," he started off. "How dare you get involved in this? This is none of your business, and don't even think I don't remember you!"

I couldn't help but laugh. "I don't think I understand."

"She was mine long before you come along."

"So what?" I look a long drag from my cigarette before killing it on the wet, black stone. "The fact that you were there before me entitles you to what exactly?"

He turned red and mumbled something under his breath before spitting out, "She's confused. Sooner or later she'll do what's expected of her." The words didn't irk me as much as the condescension he was oozing.

"What are you going to do if she doesn't?"

"You're a nobody. She'll figure it out." The right corner of his lip twitched up into a mocking smirk. "And if she doesn't, I'll make sure she will."

Without hesitation, in a quasi-natural reflex, my right hand formed into a fist and landed squarely on his jaw. The first hit threw him off balance long enough for me to drag him out of sight into the dark, and the second one gave him a nice black eye. When he got his wits back to respond, he tried to get back at me, but he was weak and his reflexes poor. I easily ducked and avoided his sloppy hits. For the hell of it, I threw a third and a fourth punch, kneeing him in the gut until he sank to the floor.

I lit another cigarette before grabbing him by his shirt and hauling him closer to my face. "If I ever—do you hear me? —_ever_catch you anywhere near her, you can kiss your political career good-bye." I inspected the damaged I'd done for a second. His lip was split, his eye red and likely to swell shut soon. He wouldn't lose consciousness. Spitting the bile rising from my stomach at the sight in front of me on the ground, I continued, "I'll make it my personal mission, just so we're clear. So you can pick: your career or the girl. The choice is yours." I wiped the blood on my hands off on his lapel, got up and walked away.

To my relief, Bella was still nowhere in sight when I returned to the front door.

"Nicely done." I heard someone say and clap. "Remind me never to get on your bad side."

I looked around and saw James standing off to the side, his arms crossed in front of his chest.

"I'm sorry I took so long." Bella came rushing through the doors, saving me from having to respond to James.

"Ready?" I asked, shooting James a quick glance.

"Yeah."

We stayed the night at my place. She began spending more time there, even bringing some of her clothes over, but stopping short of moving in. Two weeks later she quit the campaign and started applying for grad school and teaching jobs. When I asked her what made her change her mind, she just laughed and asked, "Why? Do you wanna get rid of me?"

~o0o~

"Mr. Cullen?" Leah is standing in the door, waiting for my response. "Mr. Swan is ready to see you now."

"Great," I mutter under my breath and follow her to his office.

"Edward, how're you?" Charles greets me with a handshake before stepping over to his bar and pouring two glasses of scotch.

"Can't complain. You wanted to meet?"

"Yes, I thought now that reality must've finally sunk in, you might be a bit more receptive to my ideas."

Sensing my apprehension to rehash a conversation already had, his expression shifts to one of understanding as he continues, "Please, hear me out, okay? I know you think you've heard it all before, but give me the benefit of the doubt."

"I'm here, so please," I answer, sitting down in the leather chair across from him. "Go ahead."

"You think I'm wasting my time." He's humoring me instead of just cutting the crap. "I just want you to know that even I didn't predict exactly what would happen, okay? In fact, when Wohlfmann stocks hit a low, I bought a stake. I'm going to lose here, too."

"I didn't know that." Though, I can't say I'm surprised.

"Yes, well, I did," he says, leaning back in the black leather sofa. "I don't claim to have the answer for everything, or that I always bet on the right horse, but if you were to work here, I could assure you you'd learn. And I don't mean to suggest that you've much to learn." He pauses. "I want you to understand that what I'm about to propose is a one-time opportunity." A satisfied smirk rises on his lips. He's completely sure of himself. "I'd like you not to come work _for_ me, but to work _with_me, to become a partner at this firm. You'll be able to pick the kind of work you'd be doing here, no questions asked from anybody. And I want you to know that I'm not making this offer based on the fact that you'll soon be family, but because I believe you'd be a great asset to us."

"I appreciate the offer," I start.

"But?"

"Right now, it wouldn't be the right choice for me." I try to remain calm, polite, but I can tell he's about to blow a gasket.

His face is red, a vein popping out on his forehead, as he drops his glass with a clang on the table next to him. "May I ask what the _right_choice would be?"

I can't tell him, not now, not until I've told Bella everything, so I don't respond.

"This offer's not going to remain open for forever. And let's get real here, unlike my daughter, you won't have a trust fund to fall back on."

"I'm aware of that, and I don't plan to be unemployed. I've some things that still need to be settled, but I promise as soon as I'm all set to move ahead, I'll let you know about it."

"You better, or I'll find out for myself," he continues, further agitated, his voice louder.

"If there's nothing else, I've plans-"

"Don't you dare give me this attitude," he interrupts me, getting up from sofa. "As I'm sure you know, my daughter's trust fund luckily doesn't kick in for another year, but if I find out that you've been borrowing against it or diminishing the value in any way, trust me, you'll never see her again. Do you hear me?"

"I understand your concern, but I can assure you that I've no intention to take money from your daughter. In fact, up until you mentioned a trust fund, I had no idea it existed."

It's not even a lie. Bella never mentioned it before.

"Good, because I can assure you the prenup will be iron clad," he screams, getting up and pointing his finger at me. "You'll come to regret this!"

His pompous threats, his hands too close for comfort, almost make me lose my restraint. Clenching my jaw, holding my tongue, I nod.

"I understand. Completely." I get up and walk out of the office. "Have a good night."

If he says anything else, I no longer hear it.

I walk out of the building, heading east, going home.

* * *

**Sorry :)  
**


	23. Chapter 23

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**22.**

_September 15, 2008.__  
_  
The sun is starting to set when I reach my block with my gut churning and my heart beating too fast. I try not to ignore it, not let it phase me, but what happened in her father's office worries me, and that's putting it mildly. I don't know how I let it get to so out of control.

Deep down, I know there's nothing short of accepting his offer that I could have done, and maybe I should have. Just to keep the peace for now, and then talked my way out of it later.

I need her to be home right now. And in the future, I need her on my side.

The door is locked when I get there, dispelling hope and letting disappointment seep in. I plug in my phone. Three missed calls from Jasper, none from her. I check my e-mail—nothing.

Oliver's laying on the sofa, stretched out, his flecked belly exposed. I sit down next to him. He lifts his head, peeks up at me with his odd, green eyes and then gets up, stretching his back, walking in a circle, before stepping on my lap and curling himself into a ball, purring loudly.

The panic that kept me on the edge all afternoon has worn me down. I'm too exhausted, too tired to think, plan, or strategize what I should do next. It all feels like déjà vu, except I'm in too deep this time.

I could call hospitals or the police, but I doubt it would get me anywhere. It's still too early. She's only been missing for a couple of hours. They'd dismiss my concern and ignore my pleas in less time than it took me to call them. I slump back into the sofa and listen to the sounds of the cat, his comfort lulling my senses.

When I wake up, the sky has turned black and the cat's gone. Aside from the lights of the city streaming in from the windows, the apartment's dark. Stumbling to the bathroom in the dark, I flip the switch on the cold stonewall. The lights make me blink in irritation, and my eyes don't adjust until I wash my hands, until they land on the black box with the HW initials sitting on the side of the sink.

I can feel my heart beating in my fingers, see my hand shaking as I reach for the box. I haven't laid eyes on it since I opened it up for her last February. She'd already said "yes."

~o0o~

_February 2008_

The surprise trip I'd planned when I decided to propose to her started off on rocky ground.

"Where are we going? Can you just tell me, please," she whined impatiently on the car ride to the airport.

"It wouldn't be much of a surprise, if I told you," I answered, still humoring her complaints and questions that had started the minute I'd picked her up from the campaign office two hours earlier.

"Since it looks like we're heading to JFK, I'll find out at the check-in counter anyway. So what's the point? I hate surprises." She slid her hand out of mine, shook her head in annoyance and began staring out the window.

My head felt like it was about to explode from running various models for the past twenty-four hours and I didn't want an argument. I'd suffered through several at work that day.

"Then you're going to have to wait until we check in," I replied with my smile still intact.

"You have to be kidding me!"

"Fine." My patience evaporated in the blink of an eye, replaced by anger. Just like that. "Since a surprise trip's such a horrible way to spend the weekend with me, I'll save you the wait. I booked a trip to Paris, thinking you'd actually like it. I guess I was wrong."

"That's not what I said." She glanced at me, and then rolled her eyes. "And you know it. I just don't like not knowing what's going on. Surprises never work out for me."

"Please get off at the next exit and turn around," I instructed the driver, letting my temper take control.

"What are you doing?" She looked at me with furrowed brows.

"Listen, if you don't want to go, let's not." I pulled out my BlackBerry in a childish effort to get back at her.

"I never said I didn't."

"Yes, that's true. But I also couldn't detect any enthusiasm for the idea, or appreciation for that matter. So if it's all the same to you, let's not waste any more money."

A long silence followed, neither of us ready to give in.

"This is silly!"

"How so?" I replied, not looking up.

"Because I want to go. I'd love to go."

I waited.

Cars honking, traffic barely moving, we were still stuck on the Cross Island—direction JFK.

Then the feeling of her warm breath against my neck, her shoulder bumping into mine, her lips near my ear. "Please?"

I exhaled. I was undecided, my anger still lingering.

"Should I get off or continue, Sir?" my driver interrupted, obviously listening to our conversation rather than the radio.

"Don't get off," I answered.

"Thank you," she whispered.

At first, I regretted my choice of destination. When I booked the plan as a romantic weekend get-away, I'd envisioned us holed up in our hotel room, drinking champagne and slurping oysters, the city a façade in the background. Unfortunately, Isabella had other plans; plans that left my feet aching and my back in pain. In the four days we stayed in Paris, I swear we visited at least half the museums in that city, or at least that's what it felt like, and spent the rest of time walking around the city streets. After dinner and a bottle of wine, I very nearly fell asleep each night.

On occasion, I was tempted to veto her daytime excursions, but in the end I never did. She'd spent her junior year of college in Paris and was all too eager to show me around, oozing happiness and enthusiasm I'd seldom witnessed before. So how could I deny her? The trip was for her, not for me.

Only once did I try to throw a wrench in her planning wheel. It was our last night away, and I still hadn't asked her. I'd planned the trip, bought the ring without any idea on how exactly I'd go about proposing to her.

"There's this really great Vietnamese restaurant I wanted to take you to," she started mapping out that night's plan. "And then we can take a walk over—"

"Enough walking, Ms. Swan. Let's skip dinner. I'd rather have you." I pulled her into my arms.

"You can have me anytime, but tomorrow we won't have Paris." She squirmed

"That's okay by me," I answered unbuttoning the first button of her blouse.

"What if I'm hungry?" She tugged my hand away.

"There's room service."

"The hotel's restaurant isn't that great. Please?"

"Fine," I relented.

"I love you," she said, her arms around my neck, her head tucked against my shoulder. "Thank you. For everything."

"Marry me," I said into her hair and felt her body stiffen. "Please."

"Yes," I thought I heard her whisper and pulled her away from me.

"Care to repeat that?"

"I said 'yes.'" She smiled.

We didn't have Vietnamese that night and she was right—the food we ordered via room service was average. The ring remained forgotten in the pocket of my jacket until the cab ride home from the airport back home.

"I forgot to give you something," I started, when my fingers found the box by accident.

A weathermen dressed in an ill-fitting suit was pointing at a map on the small screen built into the front seat of the yellow cab divided by Plexiglas, while outside a mixture of snow and rain kept pounding down on the car, making the black pavement icy and slick.

"What is it?" she asked, not moving her head from the spot on my shoulder, her hand resting on my thigh.

"The ring." I pulled the box out of my jacket and with both arms around her opened it for her.

"It's big," she murmured as I slipped it on her finger.

~o0o~

The ring is in the box, all five carats set in the micropave setting. I try to remember whether she wore it this morning. I can't. She always does though, turning the ring around until the stone is facing her palm. I offered to exchange it when I first noticed her doing it.

~o0o~

_April 2008__  
_  
"No, no. It's a nice ring." She closed her eyes and then glanced at me, uncertainty in hers, panic rising in mine. I stopped doing my tie and stared at her fiddling with the ring. "It's just … maybe …" My phone started ringing. "Never mind. Forget it."

She rubbed her forehead and headed to the bedroom door.

"Wait."

"Yes?" She turned to face me, her arms propped on her hips and her head cocked to the side, frustration evident on her face. She was tired of always coming in second.

"I'll call you back," I answered quickly, not caring who was calling. I tossed the cause of disruption on the dresser without care. It slid off, landing with a clank on the wooden floor, the plastic broken and the screen cracked. "Shit," I mumbled, but couldn't help the grin spreading on my face.

"Looks like you'll have to get a new one. Wanna use mine to give Jessica a head's up?" She raised her eyebrows, challenging me.

I shook my head in response.

"No? Well, then you better hurry and get to the office. Wouldn't want you to miss a thing."

"I have time."

"Liar."

She took three steps forward, remaining just out of reach.

"Closer."

"Or what?" She giggled—the sound sexy, not girly. "You're going to punish me?"

"Don't be a tease."

Her eyes widened, a pout formed on her lips. "Tsk tsk tsk. I would never." One more step, but I was impatient and just grabbed her by the waist, pulling her closer.

"I want you."

"Okay." Biting her lip, batting her lashes, she taunted me. I smiled, rising to the challenge. She blinked first and her lips found mine quickly. She pushed her pants down, stepped out of them and began working on mine—all at a furious pace. And then her hands were on me.

"The dresser," she whispered.

"The bed," I said, kissing her.

There'd been too much hurried sex—a quickie in the shower in the morning before running to work, going down on her in a bathroom stall at a firm dinner, a screw in the back of a limo with her on top while riding to her parents. I was tired of it, tired of never quite feeling satisfied. Yet, I was the one to blame, always half-present with my mind somewhere else, too tired or just plain too preoccupied.

"But you'll be really late."

"Fuck it." I picked her up and carried her to the bed.

~o0o~

"It's ten. You're officially late." She was next to me, her body slick with sweat, her breathing still labored, and I couldn't let her go.

"No shit." My lips lingered on her throat, while my fingers searched for more.

"I've an interview soon," she said, smacking my hand away and rolling over to face me.

"Okay. How soon?"

Another smack.

"At noon. I still have to shower."

"Fine. I'll let you go. With protest." I watched her crawl out of bed, laying back.

"Aren't you gonna get up?"

"Nope." She furrowed her brows.

"You're playing hooky?"

"Maybe?"

"Shut up. You must be sick." She shook her head, walking away.

"Yeah, you're burning up." Standing with her towel wrapped around her, she touched my forehead, her hair wet, dripping water on me. "Definitely sick."

She shuffled around the bedroom, searching for panties, then tights. I watched her, enjoying the show.

_There's something oddly calming in watching your lover do mundane every-day activities. She's clumsy mostly, but when she puts on clothes, she does so with grace._

"What do you think?" she asked, her hair tied into a knot at the back of her head, wearing a black skirt, a matching jacket and a demure pink blouse with a white collar.

"Sharp. Turn around." She twirled. "You might wanna go for a cheaper model."

"Excuse me?"

"You're interviewing for a job making what? Forty-kay, tops?" She nodded. "Your suit and those shoes cost more than what most your colleagues make in a month. I'd tone it down, just a bit."

"Only you'd be able to tell," she said, sounding like an insolent child.

"Don't listen to me. Fine. It's not my interview."

"I only brought this one outfit with me."

"If you moved in-"

"Not again. I will. Once Kate moves out, and I can sell or rent the apartment."

"Okay."

"Is it that obvious?" Suddenly self-conscious, she inspected herself in the mirror in the closet door. I chuckled.

"You'll be fine. Don't worry."

Walking her to the door, I caught her doing it again, moving the ring around, looking unsure.

"Hey." I took her hand in mine and kissed it. "I was serious before. If you don't like it, we can exchange it."

"No, no. It's fine. I like it." Resting her hand on my chest, she stared at it. "What made you pick it?"

"You don't like it. Let's get you something else."

"That's not it." She sighed. "It's fine. I like the ring." Pressing her lips one last time on mine, she stepped away. "I gotta run. I definitely won't get the job if I'm late."

~o0o~

I wouldn't have picked the ring, I realize as I stare at it sitting in the box. The design is flawless and so are the stones, but it's not something I would have bought with her in mind.

She knew.

My eyes fly to my watch. It's nearly nine. I drop the box, not caring as I hear it bank against the marble floor, and run to the living room to check my phone. Still no calls. A text message form Jasper, telling me to give him a call. It's urgent. But nothing from her. I flip through the incoming e-mails, advertisements mostly and news alerts until I notice an email with the subject line "Confirmation of Cancellation."

_Dear Mr. Cullen,_

_We're hereby confirming the cancellation of the catering services for the reception on October 15, 2008. A full refund, minus the cancellation of fee of $5000.00, will be issued to your credit card within five to seven business days. …_

I drop the phone.

Funny, I never saw myself going down without a fight. Yet at this moment, I can't find the strength. Without turning the lights on, I grab the scotch bottle and sink to the floor.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. I promise I won't keep you hanging for long. Next chapter is written and off to beta. **


	24. Chapter 24

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

_23._

_In the Twilight Zone_

_The light filtering in through the large, shaded windows of the corner office is grainy, with specks of bright flares shining on some sections, while others remain in the shadows. Three computer monitors to the left of the desk display what looks like predictions of the market based on different models analyzing changing variables. Leaning back into the leather chair, staring at the computer screens from his spot behind the overpowering mahogany desk sits someone who looks distinctly like an older version of myself. He looks to be around forty, maybe forty-five, wearing a nondescript black suit, white shirt and a black tie. His brown hair's tamed and slick, slivers of gray streak along his temples. _

_After a short knock on the double doors, a redhead wearing a black suit, skirt, no shirt and five-inch heels, walks into the office without awaiting an answer, closing the door behind her._

_"Mr. Swan is here to see you. Is there anything else you'll need from me, Mr. Cullen?" she asks standing in front of him, a lascivious smirk playing on her lips. _

_"No, thanks, Vicki," he answers calmly, his eyes never leaving the screens to his left. Her smile vanishes, as she nods in understanding and leaves._

_Charles Swan enters the office a minute later. He's aged. His brown hair turned completely silver, his three-piece suit sitting too tight. _

_"I want my money back," the guy who looks and sounds like me, but is not me, tells him without any formality._

_"Four more days. I'll return the funds," Charles barks, leaning forward with his hands on the monstrosity of a desk. "I already told you, you'll have your fucking money back. You know I'm good for it."_

_The man's green eyes shift from the monitors landing on Charles, leveling him with a deathly stare. "I don't, actually. You have twenty-four hours to withdraw the money and return it to my accounts, or I'll do it myself." _

_"You're crazy!" Despite his threatening posturing, his fear is palpable in the air. _

_"I doubt it." _

_Charles shakes his head. "But … the investors, the clients … everyone will lose," he mumbles, sitting down, his defeat imminent. "If you withdraw the funds, the deal will fall through."_

_"I don't care. It's mine." _

_My doppelganger gets up without saying another word. "Where are you going?" Charles wonders, the confused expression of an old man lost in the new world on his face, watching him as he leaves._

_He follows a path, taking several turns down a well-lit hallway tiled with white marble, then takes a sharp right turn until he reaches a freight elevator. Inside the elevator, which is lacking the usual line of buttons for several floors, he presses a single red button, kicking it into descent. Under the florescent lighting you see too much. On second glance, the guy who looks like me is old. Deep wrinkles mark his face. Purple shadows are etched into the skin below his eyes. The white of his eyes no longer quite white, but more yellow. _

_For a couple seconds, it feels like the elevator is free falling, but then it comes to a screeching halt. _

_When the doors open, the scene of a dimly lit bar comes into sight, old heavy metal music playing in the background. A waitress wearing a strapless black leather dress that fits her like a second skin struts past the scattered tables and chairs, a tray in her hand, serving golden liquid in smeared glasses. _

_"If this is as good as it gets, it's bad," the guy tells the bartender, who's short, his arms covered in tattoos, his black hair slicked back. The bartender, like everyone else, seems familiar. I know him from somewhere._

_"You're back. Nice to see you." He pours a green mixture into a glass in front of the guy as he sits down at the bar._

_The smell of something rancid, like rotting meat hangs in the air, so thick it almost makes you gag. _

_"Edward." I hear a girl say my name and see Bella leaning over the guy's shoulder. She looks the same, yet foreign. I can't detect any signs of ageing. When he turns to face her, she takes a step back. She's wearing a long white silk dress, a veil covering half her face. "I've been waiting for you." Her lips are lacquered with red gloss and twisted up into smile. As her chin juts up, revealing her white neck, long scars come into view. A pink one across her throat, shorter ones around her collarbones, and one long thin one along her hairline. _

_The scumbag whom she calls by my name turns away, ignoring her, his face showing no trace of emotion. _

_My eyes land on Jasper sitting at the end of the bar, snorting a line of coke from a mirror with a dollar bill. Alice's sitting next to him, wearing nothing but a black slip and makeup. _

_"What's up, Cullen?" he says to the man in black, his speech slurred. "While you're passing through, do you mind stopping and lending me a couple of bucks?" _

_He hasn't answered when, from a door at the other end of the bar, Riley storms in, coming to a stop near the guy who appears to be me. He looks the same except he's lost his hair._

_"Isabella, you don't belong here," he says and grabs her by the elbow. Her dress rips, leaving a gaping hole along her arm and her shoulder, but she just nods before willingly following him, clutching the ripped fabric together with her other hand. And that guy—the one to whom she reached out to, called by my name—doesn't make any attempts to hold her back, doesn't even flinch when Riley walks out with her._

_"He's right, you know?" the bartender tells him. "The girl doesn't belong here. Just look around." His eyes scan the smoky room filled with low lives—from the drunk counting coins for another shot of alcohol to the woman with her breasts hanging out crouching over a customer to the leather clad, juiced-up biker pumping his fist "Yet, she's been waiting for you here every day. I'm sure she'll be back tomorrow, if you want to pay us another visit." Drying a glass with a dirty rag, he looks into the guy's face. "Probably not though, huh? Too busy working in the tower."_

_The guy starts laughing; spit flying out of his mouth. Alice and Jasper join in. I want to stuff my ears, escape the sound of their laughter— bitter and mad._

* * *

Please stick with me. Update will follow tomorrow or Tuesday. I will finish the story within the next two weeks. Hopefully.

Thank you.


	25. Chapter 25

**Nowforruin betas this. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**24.**

_September 16, 2008._

As the laughter dies down, my eyes open slowly. I'm in my bed. Morning light is filtering in through the half-drawn shades, and the feeling of relief settles briefly before it's swept away by a wave of fear.

I'm alone.

I can't remember how I got here, or why my foot is pulsing in pain. Attempting to sit up, I feel dizzy, a splitting headache sending a sharp pain down my spine. But I'm thirsty, my mouth parched, so I bite down, bear the pain, and stumble out of bed.

Splashing water on my face after drinking it straight from the faucet, my eyes land on the ring sitting in the box. As the memories of yesterday start filtering into my foggy brain, hitting me like a ton of bricks, my breath falters and my knees go weak. I'm no longer panicking. This time it's worse. I'm doomed.

"Edward?" I hear a voice calling from a distance, followed by quick footstep, as I hold myself up, clutching the sink. "How're you feeling?"

I turn my head slightly and stare at her. She's standing, spatula in hand, dressed in a t-shirt and underwear in the bathroom door.

"How … when?" I croak out and swallow. I hope this is not a dream. "When did you get here?"

"You don't remember much, I guess." She steps forward, shaking her head with a smile and rubs my back, placing a kiss on my cheek. "Jeez, you reek of booze," she murmurs, her head on my shoulder, her body vibrating with laughter.

Despite the strong desire to collapse on the floor and crawl back to bed, I straighten up and pull her close to me, press her against me as hard as I can, tucking my head into her hair. I shudder.

"What's wrong?" she whispers, stirring in my embrace.

"I don't remember you coming home."

"I'm sorry. I swear, I didn't mean to scare you." She takes my hand. "Come. I made breakfast."

In a daze, I follow her, limping, noticing that my foot is wrapped up in gauze, to the kitchen.

"Sit," she orders and pushes another chair over to rest my foot on. After pouring us both some coffee and pushing two plates with eggs and toast on the table, she sits down across from me. "It's probably best that you're sitting. I hope you're not gonna get mad. I mean, I didn't to do it. It just sort of happened." She's fidgeting with her hands, touching the cup, letting it go, pushing it around on the kitchen table, then running one hand through her hair. "Anyway, I just better come out and say it: I totaled your BMW yesterday."

"I don't understand."

"I totaled it. Completely smashed. Crashed it into another car. How else can I put it?" Her hands fly up in the air quickly. She's gesturing frantically while I try to follow. "I didn't pay attention … ran a light actually, and drove straight into this other car. I'm sure your insurance will go up. It was totally my fault. Luckily the other driver is okay."

"Stop." I grab her hands, the movement making me dizzy. "Are _you_okay?" I run my thumbs over them. "I don't give a shit about the car."

She exhales and smiles. "Yeah. I'm fine. The airbags popped, but I'm fine. I tried calling you, but my phone died and the only number I remembered was for your BlackBerry and, well …" I nod. It was turned off. "I'm so sorry. I was all the way out in Long Island to cancel all the wedding stuff-"

"Why?" I swallow and take a sip of the coffee. I'm still not fully here.

"Please feel free to correct me, but didn't you lose your job yesterday?" Her brows are furrowed, her lips turned up in amusement. "I thought I was doing the only responsible thing here: downsize. I never wanted all of it anyway. Renee hired this guy who made most of the reservation, and it took some arguing to get out of it, but I managed to cancel most of the stuff. I'm afraid any savings I managed to negotiated are sort of nixed because of the car and all."

I chuckle and my shoulders relax. My brain has difficulty processing what's happening, what she's telling me. It all seems like too simple of an explanation. It can't be this easy.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing." I shake my head and rub my eyes with one hand, holding on to hers with my other one, afraid to let it go. "I went crazy wondering what you were up to. I thought you were calling the whole thing off after I got that email from the caterer."

"Why would I do that?"

Her question alarms me. My heart speeds up and I want to vanish on the spot as she narrows her eyes. I said too much. She's onto me now.

"Just tell me." Her eyes are imploring me gently.

I want to tell her, "I don't know," feign that it was just my insecurity that made me come to rash conclusions, anything but to admit my failings, my shortcomings.

And it's a tempting choice—moving on without ever revealing all the things that make you ugly. I hesitate for a moment, struggle with what to say. Avoidance is an easier tactic, my brain tells me, but my heart tells me otherwise.

"Because I thought you may have found out some things about me, things I've done, that would make you want to run … cancel the wedding."

She stays silent, a smile on her lips.

"You're far less of a mystery than you think you are, Edward, you know that?"

"How so?"

"You tell me. Confess your sins." She removes her hand from mine and I start to sweat.

"I guess I should fess up. " I lean back, wondering where to begin. "I set up your ex up to fall into bed with a call girl," I admit. "I was … am in love with you. I'm sorry." Surely that deceit is the worst on my long list of crimes. Yet, her expression doesn't shift. "You knew?"

"Kind of … " She smirks, shrugs her shoulders. "When Jasper broke up with Alice, and I didn't completely take her side, she got mad. She told me about the whole thing, including her duplicity in it. I understand why you wouldn't want to tell me. Riley was a louse. I don't care. Honestly. I mean it." She shifts in her chair, gets up and walks a few steps to the window before turning around to face me. "There are, however, other things you kept from me that I'm more concerned about." I want to laugh, because everything else seems puny to me in comparison, but the seriousness of her tone gives me reason not to. "Like, if you're going with anybody into business, I'd actually like to know about it before you go ahead an do it. Just for future reference."

"How …?" is all I bring out at first. She shoots me a disapproving look. I shake my head. I wish the headache was gone, my head clear. I fear that just one wrong word uttered from my mouth could doom me. "Never mind. It's not the point."

"You're right, it isn't. But if you must know, your BlackBerry kept on ringing one day, and I picked it up. It was the attorney who filed the papers for the corporation you set up. He had some questions. After I hung up, I checked your email accounts. You should really switch up your passwords." I stare at her in disbelief.

"I'm sorry. I promise to keep you in the loop going forward. I just wanted to wait. I thought you wouldn't exactly like it." I get up, limp forward to close the distance I can no longer handle. "I'm sorry. Please." When her arms come up around my neck and her head rests on my chest, I start feeling better. Despite my headache, the sour taste in my mouth and my aching foot, I feel lighter, better than I have in a long time. I think this is it.

"There's more, isn't there?" she says, not moving her head.

"Like what?" Nothing else comes to mind.

"Bree."

"She made me promise not to tell you." My voice is as weak as my excuse. I see that now. She tries to move, but I hold on to her. "No," I plead.

"I don't give a shit what she made you promise, Edward." Pushing me away, she moves back to the table. "You should've told me!" For the first time during this conversation, I detect actual anger, hurt in her expression. "You know how I found out about her?" Her hands have latched on the back of one of the chairs, her fingers pressing hard into the metal.

"No."

"She died. Drug overdose. The police were investigating it for a bit, poking around, trying to figure out whether foul play was involved. A detective knocked on my apartment door one day wanting information."

"Why didn't you tell me?" It's a complaint I have no business making. Feeling lost without her close to me, I follow her to where she's standing, sit down in the chair next to her and take her hand trying to pull her onto my lap. She hesitates, then steps back.

"You were working late. I couldn't reach you. The next day you left for London on business."

I nod, remembering that trip. The regret of not being able to be there for her makes me feel like less of a man. What good am I to her if she can't confide in me?

"They knew about my father's affair. They must have put two and two together after they figured out she lived in an apartment owned by my father's company and received monthly payments without being on the payroll. Our family doctor wrote all the prescriptions in her cabinet. I confronted my mother about it. She confirmed it." I flinch. "Don't worry, she didn't rat you out. Not voluntarily anyway. I asked her why she didn't let Bree stay at the house. I was furious with her. She told me about the abortion and all the rest. She never let it slip that you were there. My father did."

"About your father … he made me an offer."

"I figured he would." She huffs, wrapping her arms around her middle. "And?" With a tense look on her face, she stares at me expectantly.

"I didn't take it."

"I'm glad."

"Me too."

"He's . . . " she starts, but then stops. Leaning against the table next to me, tears are nearly spilling, but then she inhales deeply and it stops. "I have no words for what he is. I shouldn't have put him on a pedestal for so long. Working for him opened my eyes, so in that sense you did me a favor." Her smile is weak, but it's there.

"I don't know about that." There's more to the story, I can sense. I want to ask her what exactly she figured out while working for him, but now is not the time.

"No. You did. You were right. I was a spoiled child."

"No, you're not. I love you."

"What does it even mean, Edward, if you think so little of me that you're not sharing anything with me for fear I run? You must think I'm so shallow and spoiled … that I won't have your back when trouble arises."

"Forgive me, please. I don't know what I'd do without you." Sounding pathetic was never my thing, nor appealing for pity, but right about now I'm contemplating crawling on my knees to beg her to stay with me. Before I fall to the ground, I feel her hands on my face.

"I'm not going to run. I'm here." Sliding onto my lap, she kisses me. I kiss her back, get lost in her touch.

We have time, I hope.

"I love you," I tell her again. "So much."

~o0o~

"Don't you have to go to work?" I ask her when I see the alarm clock next to the bed.

"Called in sick."

I hum in response, content with her lying naked on top of me.

"You should shower, brush your teeth."

I chuckle. "What happened last night?"

"You tell me." She props her head up on her hand and looks at me. "When I got home, you were asleep on the kitchen floor. Your foot was bleeding. There was glass from a broken scotch bottle everywhere. I don't know whether you smashed it before or after you drank it. Considering your state, I think it's safe to assume you finished it." She giggles, slides off to my side. "Oh, and you were hugging two empty tequila bottles to your chest. I cleaned up the glass and dragged you to bed."

"I got up?" Judging my current state, I must have been way past drunk. Delirious, possibly.

"Yeah, shockingly. After you threw up on me."

I cringe.

"I did?"

"Yeah." She's laughing hard.

"Okay. I'm going to shower. Now." I roll out of bed, reaching my hand out for her. "Come."

"I already showered. Last night."

"Take another one."

"I'm okay for now," she says, her form retreating into the sheets.

"You'll have to bid farewell to that nice computerized steam shower soon, so you really should enjoy it."

"What?" And for the first time today, she actually does look surprised.

"Shit. Considering the stuff you scoped out, how did you miss that I sold the apartment? Which reminds me, we should start looking at new places soon. The closing is scheduled in two weeks."

She covers her face with her hands, making it impossible for me to gauge her reaction.

"Come on, how did you think I got the capital to start the business in this economy?" I try to make a joke out of yet another failure of mine. She deserves so much better than what I've been giving her.

She shakes her head, laughing. Impatiently, I pick her up and carry her over my shoulder into the bathroom.

"Edward?"

"Bella?"

"I want to return the ring."

"Sure. Your mom picked it out. Sorry. I kind of need to save some money, so why don't we exchange it for something smaller?"

"I don't need one. Not one my mom picked and no replacement." I slowly drop her to the floor, confused by what she's telling me.

"I'm sorry but . . ." I scratch the back of my neck, look away, too ashamed to face her. If she wants me to wait, I will. "You don't want to get married?"

"No. Let's do it. All I'm saying is, I don't need a ring. A wedding band will do."

"Okay."

"One other thing."

"Anything," I tell her as I drag her into the steaming water.

"No more lies, half-truths or stuff you forget to mention, okay?"

I wipe the worry frown between her brows away with my thumb.

"I promise."

* * *

**Thank you so much for reading—particularly all the people who stuck around & reviewed. This wouldn't be any fun without you. The people who have rec'd this fic – Kisvakondok, DreamOfTheEndless, IcarusToSun, alchemillamollis, cejsmom, Arabella's, ErikaJo, Spanklemaker9, BellaScotia—thank you so much. I'm sorry if I left anybody else out. I'll post an epilogue next week, which will complete the story. **

**I will be contributing something to Fandom For No Kid Hungry – maybe an outtake/future-take or a BPOV? Let me know what you'd like to read. I'm open to suggestions. **

**It's a great cause, please consider contributing to it at http:/fandomcause(dot)info/  
**


	26. Chapter 26

**ginginlee beta'ed this for me in a jiffy. Thank you. **

_I don't own Twilight. Any similarities to actual persons or events, alive or dead, real or fictitious, are merely coincidental, and most likely the product of my feverish imagination._

* * *

**25. Epilogue **

_Fall 2011_

"Our driver called in sick. Can you handle it?" Jasper says, strolling into the office at five o'clock; there's a swagger in his walk, which makes me think he finally hooked up with the yoga teacher next door.

"How many stops?" I ask though I know I'll have to take over the deliveries.

After two years of running my own business, the one thing I've learned is, in case of emergency, you'll have to fill in yourself. You can never count on everyone and hiring double just doesn't make sense.

"Just a big one to a distributor. Here's the kicker: it's in Newark."

"Okay," I agree, grabbing the keys to the truck off the wall. "Truck's loaded already?"

What Jasper doesn't know is that one of the bartenders still hasn't shown up for work and someone will have to fill in for that spot as well. I'd rather that be Jasper than me. Customer service when the patrons are past tipsy is not my thing, I discovered. I can handle it, but the customary flirting, forced smiles and politeness are more tiring to me than a round trip to New Jersey in rush hour traffic.

"Yeah. You're good to go."

"I'll see you tomorrow. Oh, and Jasper?"

"Yeah?"

"Jamie hasn't shown up for his shift yet. You might wanna stick around tonight," I tell him halfway out the door.

I hear him curse and keep on walking. He'll be all right. It's not as if he has anybody at home waiting for him.

Business is doing well and teaming up with Jasper turned out to be a good choice. He does a much better sales pitch than I do. We've expanded our operation and opened two restaurants. Our inventory sells out quickly despite the fact that booze isn't the best seller it was in previous recessions. We're even able to pull in a decent salary from it. We worked hard at making this venture a success, but a decent start up fund—mostly consisting of the money we got back from the return of the engagement ring—helped us through some rough patches. Running the business is not always a breeze. Some days are tough and I end up working as my many hours as I did in my old job, often coming home twice as exhausted.

Do I miss the old days? Not really. I don't miss singing to anybody else's tune. I stayed in touch with some of my old colleagues and sometimes when I get the itch I do some trades, gamble some money. But the rush is missing.

Maria landed right back on her feet. Her early departure turning out to be a blessing in disguise when she got an offer from another bank, one that ended up getting bailed out and then made millions on credit default swaps right after the insurance company that had issued the paper also received a check from Uncle Sam. Occasionally, she calls me for advice, which I don't really give. She should know better, really.

Sam Uley survived a grand jury subpoena and a congressional hearing and currently has an engagement with a hedge fund. Beats me how he's still working. His close cohort, Billy Black lost his FINRA license after an SEC investigation and settled where all crooks do in the twilight of their career—Florida. I'm sure Bella's father was pleased when he got the news. Not that I'd know first hand. Bella has broken off contact with him. Once a month she has lunch with her mother and she stays in touch with Jake.

I drop a hundred boxes off at a distributor and head back home, looking forward to spending the evening with Bella, even if our typical routine consists of eating dinner then watching TV and not much else most weeknights.

As I enter our apartment, that's exactly where I find her—sitting on the sofa munching on some sickly sweet cereal, watching the evening news.

"We should do something to contribute," she says watching the screen intently, her brows furrowed in concentration.

I open up the fridge to search for something edible. "Did you cook?"

"Nope. I was grading tests until ten minutes ago. So what do you think?"

"About what?" I slump down on the sofa next to her.

"Contributing. I don't have the time to camp out, but I definitely agree with them." My focus shifts to the TV and I see what she's talking about—the lunatics who've been camping out in Zucotti Park. Funny, I'd walked by that park a thousand times before and never known its name.

"They're morons." I laugh as a girl in a bikini with a dollar note taped over her mouth struts past the cops in the background. Around her neck hangs a sign that reads "Greed." An old guy with a guitar in hand sings _The Times They Are A Changin'._"What do you wanna eat?"

"Sometimes you're such an asshole. They're completely right about what they're saying," she snaps at me and rolls her eyes.

"I'm not sure that matters." I shrug my shoulders as the cops stop a protester from crossing the street.

She squints, staring at me, spoon suspended midway to her mouth. "You don't think the problem of unequal income distribution matters?" She shakes her head. "God, if I think about all the money you made selling completely worthless paper and compare it to my measly salary, I still get sick. It's not fair."

"I'm not saying it's a not a problem. And life's not fair. Get used to it. I just don't think it matters what they think or what their message is, unless they have the capital to back it up, hire someone on K-Street and start contributing."

"So basically you're telling me there's no point to public protest and your vote doesn't count?"

"It's not going to change the system. Particularly not if it would hurt the top one percent. And if you're so on board with their non-existing program, why don't you contribute your trust fund money to them." She has had access to it for a while, but has been refusing to touch it vehemently. "Look at it as redistribution of income." I can't help but smile. She smacks my leg with the spoon.

"Maybe I will," she says, shooting me glance that tells me she might be serious. "I do believe they're onto something. Look at all those people protesting. Going on the street worked in the sixties, so what makes you think it won't work now?"

"It won't. This is different. Sure, maybe some politicians will express their sympathy, even say they'd change some laws, regulate and reform the system. But at the end of the day, when new legislation is on the horizon, that same politician will knock on some lobbyist's door with his hand stretched out, ready to get cash for his reelection. Guess whose interest said politician will protect when it comes time to draft the bill or pass it?"

"You're too cynical."

"Look, even when they had the banks by the balls, they didn't bother shoving some regs down their throats. So what makes you think some kids camping out in a park will change anything? I'm just being realistic."

The way I see it, it's all one circular clusterfuck with no incentive for change, least of all for the people at the top of the food chain. In a moment of weakness, they'll make a charitable contribution and deduct it from their taxes while slurping some Chateau Margaux, circa 1995. The people in the middle get thrown a bone in the form of cheap credit laced with a sleeping pill on which they'll chew while they watch infomercials, reality TV and programming with strategically placed advertisement. Occasionally, they'll buy some shit they don't need and feel happy that they got their share. Of course, it's a joke. In the grand scheme of things, they've got nothing short a few paychecks, which wouldn't cover the basics for more than six months. The ones at the bottom get enough to stay calm. Fattened up with meat rich in hormones, brainwashed on the pews, they can even be counted on most days of the year to vote against their own interest.

"But it's good to dream. Don't you think?"

"I don't know," I tell her and pull her in for a kiss. "I like my reality just fine."

* * *

**I will be contributing a third person outtake from this story to Fandom For No Kid Hungry. The title will be "Falling." It will cover Isabella Swan's story. I will post it here as a quasi appendix to this story by August/September, 2012.**

**http:/fandomcause(dot)info/  
**


	27. Chapter 27

**ginginlee beta'ed this for me. she's sweet. **

**While writing and posting "Crash," several reviewers commented on what an enigma Bella remained throughout the story. In order to give some more insights into her character, I wrote the following companion piece called "Falling" for the Fandom 4 No Kid Hungry compilation. There are several parts to "Falling," and I'll post them as additional chapters to this story.**

**So here we go …**

* * *

_**Falling**_

"_Do you really think it is weakness that yields to temptation? I tell you that there are terrible temptations which it requires strength, strength and courage to yield to."_

~ Oscar Wilde

**Part I**

"Don't slouch, darling. _That _along with the buttoned up blouse you're wearing makes you look like an old maid," her mother chides, while the young Latin waiter lingers, staring down the low cut V-neck shirt of the elder Mrs. Swan. His long dark fingers move seamlessly; first folding a white cotton napkin around the neck of the wine bottle and then arranging glasses. The view—adorned with pearls—enticing to him.

Across from her mother, the girl, almost a woman, narrows her eyes.

"So what?" Youthful rebellion rings clear in her voice, yet, whether subconsciously or not, she squares her shoulders before she continues, "There's nothing wrong with being a single woman, an old maid as you call it. The label's just a negative stereotype perpetuated by a patriarchal society that deems women who choose not to marry and bear children unworthy."

A fire only seldom ablaze is burning in the girl's brown eyes as she stares at the well-maintained stealthy blonde who will only fan the flames.

"Bella, my dear, when did you become a lesbian?" Her mother chuckles, making her daughter's cheeks turn a bright pink. "Please don't give up on men entirely just yet because your dear boy is not up to par. I do get the feeling, and have been getting it for some time now, that he's lacking the right touch. And not just between the sheets."

"Mom," Bella pleads, her eyes wandering briefly to the waiter. She doesn't want to have this conversation. Not here, not anywhere. Not ever in fact. Her mother just smirks, shooting a look in the waiter's direction, prompting him to refill water at a different table.

"What? Don't be such a prude, Bella," Mrs. Swan says, pushing her barely touched salad out of the way and sipping her white wine instead.

Isabella Marie Swan doesn't consider herself a prude, and she knows she's not a lesbian. Her experimental phase in college taught her as much. She loves the sight of the female form and once thought she could love the rest, but her senses revolted—the smell too pungent and the flesh too soft for her taste.

Still, her mother's words stir something in her, something she's been trying in earnest to suppress. She doesn't take her mother's bait, doesn't snap back, but inside of her a war is waging.

Doubts have plagued her lately; chief among them, whether she has committed her herself to the wrong man.

Riley.

They'd met in the fall of sophomore year. Kate wanted to leave Poughkeepsie in search for a guy. Bella wasn't searching for any guy, but came along just the same. Observing the scene undisturbed and rarely noticed, as it was her habit, she sipped her ginger ale at the Black Swan until he came along, insisting he buy her a drink. His long locks were tousled, his eyes bright blue. She thought he was handsome, but she never drank things that burned her throat. Nevertheless, he decided to stay.

He told her he got into Yale, but went to Bard instead. She thought he was full of it, but didn't care to tell him so.

Kate spent the night with someone she found, so Bella, sober and with a resolve she had seldom before shown, crawled into bed with the boy who wanted to get her drunk, then high.

It was okay. Not bad, not painful. She didn't care. Another experience to get out of the way.

The weeks after, he wooed her with his dreams; selfless missions to far away regions, work for a cause rather than a paycheck, freedom from expectations and parental pressure. His dreams seemed adventurous, and she longed for excitement.

Bella hesitated at first. Her sensible mind was telling her to get up and walk away. But reality was boredom and, as time went by, her wave of reticence ebbed. Better living for a dream that made her feel something than living in her rut. She thought it was the blossoming of first love, refusing to admit what it truly was: a short-lived escape.

Riley wanted her (for all the wrong reasons). She didn't know what she wanted except she liked his dreams. Giving in was easy. They shared much in common; their parents were old acquaintances; his friends were friends of hers. She liked him fine; he fit the bill.

He's still the same—a fibber with money and now, a newfound ambition—but she's changing. It's not a sudden shift of emotion, but more like an evolution of sorts. On some days it feels like a layered veil is being lifted gradually, piece by piece, away from her eyes, allowing her to see things in full light. The friends she thought she knew and liked have started to show character traits she never noticed before; ideals she held dearly to her heart have become flawed over time. As with all things new and yet to be fully discovered, her vision blinds her at times, leaving her confused and disorientated.

When it began—this metamorphosis—is hard to tell. One thing she can't deny: Edward Anthony Cullen has something to do with it. A catalyst of sorts, she believes, leading her to something new.

They met in the beginning of the summer at the bank they both work at—she, the summer intern, he the rising star. Bella didn't like him at first; he liked her immediately. His devilish charms, abundant self-confidence along with his profession, neat suits and his clean-shaven face did nothing for her. Her aloofness, resistance to his overtures and the vulnerability he detected lurking underneath her carefully preserved guard attracted him only more.

As the long summer days have waned, grown shorter, something about Edward has gotten under her skin, seeped into her bloodstream like a tropical disease, leaving her feeling weak and feverish every time he is near.

Sure, his boyish good looks have had an effect on her. A sharply cut jaw line, tussled brown locks never fully tamed, a lopsided smile, piercing green eyes and a lean physique make him appealing to nearly every one, and Bella has succumbed, at least in that respect, fully.

At night, she has begun experiencing dreams of a sensual nature that have been at once foreign and exhilarating, leaving her breathless and yearning for more. They never feature Riley, always Edward.

Smart, witty and often rude, she used to loathe his attitude, but lately has come to appreciate this brusqueness of his; it has became symptomatic of his disregard for order, authority, and for that, she has started to envy him.

His persistence in pursuing her, the attention he's showered her with, makes her feel beautiful inside and out.

Exiting Fred's, the restaurant on the top floor of the department store, and taking the escalator to the shoe department with her mother, Isabella contemplates again whether she should give into temptation, give into Edward's advances.

It would be easy, she imagines.

She wants desperately to touch, explore and feel and to be ravished in return. She yearns to experience heat, lust and desire. Discover whether her encounter with the real Edward would be as potent as her dreams.

But something holds her back. She's scared. If she gives credence to the rumors circling the cold halls of the bank, Edward's forte is the chase followed by a quick kill. She'll be dead to him after, she is certain of that. And her ego is so very fragile underneath her mother's designer robes. She's always perceived herself to be a girl of average beauty. A blow like that might not kill her, but it would hurt—and not only her ego. A friendship has blossomed between them, one she couldn't help but miss.

"Don't even think about buying flats, darling. You're not tall enough," her mother disrupts her musings, pulling the ballet flats Isabella has thoughtlessly picked up to inspect out of her hands. "A nice set off heels. You have good legs, great actually. Come on."

Isabella, her body as limp as that of a ragdoll, is dragged off to a different section. Trying on three-inch stiletto heels, she endures her mother's instructions and recommendations with a resigned sigh.

"_But I think I like you just the way you are," _he told her, looking at her like she was something else.

Staring at her reflection in the floor length mirror under her mother's critical eye, wearing the three-inch heels, she doesn't like what she sees at all and can't grasp what he sees in her.

She hates the skirt, the blouse, the high-heeled shoes and the tasteful gold jewelry, but worst of all she hates her own skin.

Her vision blurs, her breath falters, her heartbeat begins to slow down. At the ripe old age of twenty-three, she feels like she's slowly dying.

Summers at the beach. Winters in the slopes. Lunches with her mother. Afternoons with Kate. Dinner with Riley. Drinks alone. Always. Now that she does drink all things bitter, sweet and sour. Functions and work. Yes, a cause, a charity, but her life will remain stagnant, she will become stale, her heart a wasteland. A Valium to sleep.

If she continues like this, she might as well already be dead.

"Bella!" Something cold is being placed on her forehead; her legs are moved. "Wake up, honey!"

As always, she does as she's told.

~o0o~

Only half conscious, she goes through the motions the following days. Gets dressed, goes to work and out with her friends.

"What's up with Cullen these days?" She hears a woman say and holds her breath in the bathroom stall. "He hasn't called me back in weeks. Too bad really."

The click clack of high heels on polished marble floors. Water rushing.

"He's chasing after some girl. Rumor has it, her dad's some big hedge fund guy," another female replies. Both of them are oblivious to the girl's presence two stalls down in the corner. "He's such a fox."

A chuckle. The sound of a paper towels being scrunched.

"You think it's the father he's after? Doesn't sound like him," Vicky, a hard-nosed senior analyst with a penchant for coitus in the public sphere, declares.

"I can't say for sure. We never exactly talked much." The words roll slowly over the other woman's tongue, the redolent smile on her face reflected in the tone of her voice. In her extensive experience, he is the best. The memory of his touch makes her quiver with want long past their last encounter. She wants this obsession of his to be over, gone.

"Well, I've worked with him on several projects. He never seemed like he'd pretend to get ahead. I just don't see him chasing tale for that reason," Vicky ponders. "He must see something in her he likes. Otherwise I can't see him make the effort."

"Maybe he does. Whatever. I'm sure he'll move on eventually," the other one answers flippantly, unwilling to acknowledge the possibility that Edward will never be available again.

"Well, I gotta run."

Click clack. Click clack.

"See you around, Vicky," the other one greets her goodbye and leaves a minute later after she's carefully applied another layer of beige maquillage to cover the signs of too many nights spent working.

Inside her stall, Bella exhales. Her heart's beating a mile a minute. She could leave now, get up without encountering them, but she hovers, feeling trapped and anxious.

Around lunch, the time of day Edward and her often spent together, she stays at her desk, ignores his calls and his e-mails, not ready to face him. Still, when she sees him standing near the glass revolving door as she rushes out of the building at five, she can't help walking over to him.

His tie is loosened, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up. A cigarette is dangling from his mouth as he types a reply on his BlackBerry.

"Hey," she says, coming to a stop in front of him and watching one side of his mouth twitch up into a lazy grin. He knows he has her on a hook, but he can't reel in the line and this puzzles him.

"Hey." He looks up at her, inhales, pinches the cigarette between his thumb and his index finger, tosses it into the stone ashtray on the sidewalk near the entrance and exhales. "Heading home for the day?"

"Yeah." She bites her lip, tongue-tied suddenly. "So …" she starts. "Any plans for tonight?"

"Not really. I'll work unless …" his eyes drift up and down along her form, then land on her lips, "unless you want to do something."

She shifts, uncomfortable, self-conscious under his unwavering gaze. He's waiting, not moving to strike just yet. Though he undresses her with his eyes, he has made no attempt to kiss her or touch her. In the beginning of their liaison, there were careful caresses, accidental brushes—all harmless, until one day he stopped. Now he tempts her silently. His body, his face, his eyes—all drawing her in, tempting her to come hither.

"I can't tonight," she says, the sound of her voice so thin, she swears he can hear the tremble she feels in her fingers as they itch to reach out.

"Okay." That smile she likes, the one that's contagious, spreads across his face, making his eyes crinkle. "Call me, if you change your mind. I'm busy, but I could make time for dinner."

"Yeah. Sure." She nods and looks up. Their eyes lock. She sees want and passion she can't comprehend. There's nothing about her that would inspire such feelings, she firmly believes. What she fails to see is the hope, the longing, the love for her that's already shining in his eyes.

She doesn't call him that night.

~o0o~

"I want to go to the beach this weekend," Kate announces, drink in hand. It's a hint that's not even thinly veiled. Kate's parents don't own a beach house; Bella's do.

"I don't know ..." Bella tries to be evasive instead of saying no. The sun has never been her friend.

"Come on. Pretty please?" Kate bats her lashes. "Besides, you're so pasty white after spending the whole summer in an office, you look like a ghost."

"I don't feel like driving all the way out there. And my mom will be around this weekend." She's a little closer to waving the white flag, surrendering to the charms of Edward A. Cullen. Any momentum gained would be thrown to the dogs if she had to endure her mother's critiques. Her self-confidence would be torn to shreds.

"_Your hips are really too wide. Not proportionate to the rest. Maybe a C-cup would equal it out? I should make you an appointment with my new doctor," _her mother told her just the other day.

"You're mom's cool. I wish mine was more like yours. You don't have to drive. We could take the train or I could drive."

"I'll think about it."

~o0o~

"Isabella, I need you to take more responsibility," he tells her while writing a check. "You can do this. I saw it, confirmed it, with my own eyes. You'll be fine." She can't tell him the truth, tell him that the work he's so impressed with isn't hers but Edward's. Disgrace or embarrassment isn't what concerns her, why she stays mum. She feels protective of Edward, a need to shelter him from the wrath sure to be unleashed if she'd disclose his involvement.

"Yes, Dad. Of course." She feels she owes him. He thinks he owns her.

"So it's all set. You'll start working next week. I ran into Kathy and she said she's already found someone else." She stares at him, looking confused. "The job offer for Random House, remember?"

Of course, she does.

She nods, disappointment swimming in her brown eyes. He doesn't look up. He won't save her.

"I see," she says.

The things she wants, she can't have.

"When's Riley coming back? Sheryl told me she's expecting him back soon. He's asking for a personal recommendation for law school next year."

She hasn't thought of Riley since her brief slip into unconsciousness.

"Sorry, Dad. I've to go," she says and slips out the door.

She scrubs off the make up, kicks off the heels and calls her best friend.

"Alice?"

Loud music is playing in the background when someone picks up.

"Yes?"

"What are you doing tonight?"

A stranger's voice is yelling for more vodka.

"I'm having a party. Come by."

Some time later, with a bottle of vodka in her hand, Alice crawls into the empty bathtub with her friend. A steady loud beat from the music flows in through the locked door.

"Do you like him?" Bella asks.

"Who? Jasper?" Alice plays coy, taking a sip from the bottle before handing it to her friend.

"Who else could I be referring to?"

"Yeah, I do. He's fun," Alice answers, inspecting her pink nails. "I have to go to London tomorrow. I think I might ask him to come visit me."

"You've only known him for a couple of weeks." She doesn't want Alice to get hurt.

"So … ?"

"Nothing." It's none of her business, an argument better avoided.

"You think it's too soon." Alice doesn't beat around the bush. Unlike her friend, she doesn't mind conflict.

"Forget it. I don't know what I'm talking about." Bella has always felt ill equipped to dole out relationship advice.

"You should call Edward and invite him."

"No. I really shouldn't," she responds quickly, lifting the bottle back to her lips, though it's hard to deny: she comes alive when she hears his name.

"Come on, Bella. Have some fun. You look miserable. Just let it go already."

"Let what go?"

"You like him. He likes you. Fuck it. Have fun. Riley will be back soon."

Three shots of vodka later, she calls Edward. He says he'll come but then he's late. Three more shots of vodka. She makes up her mind.

"Did you miss me, princess?" he teases when she kisses him on the cheek. It's a bold move considering her temperament, one he doesn't fail to take notice of.

Just for one night, she wants to be audacious and luscious and strong; she wants to be what he sees when he looks at her. The woman she can't see.

But the night slips past her.

Whenever his gaze burns her skin, she looks demurely and courteously away. Audacious doesn't come easy to her.

She waits. She drinks some more.

Patience she has plenty, but time's running out.

Minutes, hours pass. She imagined what it would feel like to touch him. Not his arm as he walks with her, but to touch him the way she has in her dreams. He's only a couple of years older than her, but he's a man compared to the boy she has had before. There's hair on his chest and strength to his form. Experience she's lacking she sees clearly reflected in all of him: his gait, his eyes, and even his fingers as they curl around the glass.

He catches her staring and chuckles. She blushes, looks away. Another shot of vodka.

The party's almost over when she finally dares to make her move. With all the courage she can muster, she throws her body against him and presses her mouth on his. She feels the stubble of his unshaven face under her fingers, as she tastes his lips. Foreign and dangerous. He doesn't move, doesn't seem to reciprocate. It takes a second, two, and three until his lips move, his arms pull her in.

It feels so good, she doesn't stop to think, never worries about what to do or what not to; she just lets go and falls freely. It's as simple as breathing air. His hands feel cool on her heated skin, his mouth igniting a pulsing need. As her hands find the smooth skin of his sex, she gasps, aroused like never before. Her own frenzy's too strong and her mind too clouded to notice the slight tremor in his hands, the way he hesitates, tries to slow down, then can't, or the reverence with which he devours her. She's almost done with when he pushes inside of her. How quickly it's over is lost on her.

As he pulls up his pants, the loss of his touch pains her like a knife twisting in her heart. The hurt's so great and so unexpected, she smacks his hand away as he hands her her underwear.

"Stop," she yells, a tear running down her cheek. "It's all you want from me, isn't it?"

What follows, she does not expect.

"I'm sorry ... you deserve so much better … I'd never run from you. I thought you'd know this by now."

And then she feels it everywhere—in his gentle touch as he dressed her and the soft kisses he places on the way—he loves her, cherishes her, just the way she is.

The revelation shakes her to she core, makes her doubt everything she's ever appraised. How could she have judged him so poorly? She doesn't know what to feel, doesn't know how to act as he comforts her, caresses her until he drops her off at an address where she doesn't live.

She goes into hiding once more.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. **


	28. Chapter 28

**ginginlee beta read this for me, but I went ahead and added a bunch of stuff later. So, yeah, all the mistakes and all … definitely all mine.**

* * *

**Falling**

**Part II**

The next day, a grey humid one, she calls in sick, turns off her phone and drives with Kate to the beach. Riley returns that Saturday. His hair is cut shorter than she remembers, and his skin's lightly tanned.

"You look terrible, really. I think you missed me," he tells her with a smile after his three month long sojourn in Mexico (and a weekend in Sin City that she'll never know about).

Isabella feels hurt and snubbed by his callous attitude, but does nothing to shut him down when he, after some drinks, takes her hand and places careless kisses on her mouth.

Surreptitiously, she liberates a bottle of Xanax from her mother's medicine cabinet that night, and she goes to sleep every night after that lulled into a dull comfort. It's easy; it's convenient. She no longer dreams.

When Riley's hand creeps between her legs one night before she can escape to her dreamless state of oblivion, she goes limp, pretends to be asleep. With a grimace on his face, he turns away. He's certain she's feigning deep slumber. Though he prefers to reach his apex between other legs, and the clouds of melancholy that shroud her are not something that has never seen before, the rejection of his advances is new and it confounds him.

In his eyes, Bella has always been prone to depression (his mother has confirmed his view) and this latest bout may just be another phase, one she'll eventually grow out of. To some extent, her strange torpor used to appeal to him; it left him free to do whatever he pleased without her inconveniently meddling in his affairs.

But this is clearly something else. This is different. Her rebuff bruises his ego, and for the following days he tries to pull her out of her gloom the best he knows how. He buys her underwear and flowers and jewelry.

"What's wrong, honey? Just tell me," he tries to convince her over lunch at her favorite restaurant when she can't muster a smile.

"Nothing." She picks at her lettuce with a fork.

He's a busy man these days—a new ambition to make a name for himself having finally settled with him—yet he took off for lunch just to see her and has promised to spend the weekend with her at his parents' summerhouse.

So he snaps, "That's bullshit and you know it." He's annoyed with her nonchalance. His life shouldn't revolve around her (or anyone else but himself for that matter). He has other, better things to do. "You've been acting strange since I got back and I've been nothing but supportive. Do you know I have to defend you on a daily basis to my mom? She thinks you're completely manic and I'm starting to think she's right. Tell me, what exactly is wrong with your life?" He tosses his napkin in anger on the table. "I tell you what, your life is too fucking charming! That's what it is."

His ego tells him to get up and walk away; she wouldn't object if he did and secretly he knows this.

The outburst doesn't do anything to squash her doubts and fears, only confirms what she suspects all along: she's weak, pathetic and so undeserving.

"_Spoiled," Edward would say._

"I'm sorry," she says. "I don't mean to be a drag. I promise, I'll try harder." She always tries her hardest to be polite. "It's just work."

Her words appease him, and he stops concerning himself with her mood. Her quiet deference—as he misinterprets it—is something that he always liked. He can't tolerate disagreement; his equal in temperament would not be a good match for him. It's not the only reason he's always returned to Bella after short breaks during which he's let his desires run free, but it's an important one. Yes, he appreciates her cool beauty and her unassuming attitude. He did right away after that night at the Black Swan. But those all are merely likes. What he loves about her above all else is her last name. It makes her his perfect match. Even his parents admit as much. In the realm of money and social standing, only an equal would do.

He doesn't see her again until her birthday, a week later.

"So, how did you like your present?" he says, fishing for a compliment on the cab ride home.

"Thank you. It's nice," she replies absentmindedly, thinking about the boring pearls he gave her. Edward's appearance at the party Alice threw for her rattled her. He didn't seem like the man she remembered; his bitterness is haunting her after his hasty departure. Riley didn't notice the brief encounter between the stranger and his girl. In fact, he only took note of Edward when the focus of the girl he was talking to shifted to the stranger standing in the corner with a drink.

"Alice threw you a nice party," he says, checking his phone for text messages from a new conquest, "though, I guess it's the least she could do."

"What on earth is that supposed to mean?" she lashes out in irritation he quickly dismisses.

"You know she threw you the party so she could network with your friends. She's obviously looking for clients. You can't be that naive?" he comments with a smile.

She turns to him as she speaks. "The last time I checked half the people in that crowd didn't have their own checkbook with large enough accounts just yet. Besides, Alice hates most of them."

"Don't get upset because I'm telling you a truth you don't want to hear." He shakes his head, dismissing her words. "I've some work to finish up. I'll go back to my place. I'd only disturb you."

"Fine. Have a good night," she tells in as friendly a manner as she can muster when the car comes to a stop in front of her building. A brief kiss and she's flying out the door, happy to have avoided him coming upstairs without the effort of making excuses.

When she unwraps her other presents the next day, she finds a large parcel from Edward. She likes the painting that's inside, but the note tucked into the twine that holds the brown packaging in place is more important to her.

"Happy Birthday, Edward" she reads and feels disappointed. The note is sadly impersonal, and she was hoping desperately for a more meaningful one to give her sign. More than anyone else before in her life, she misses him.

She misses the teasing, the tension and their talks; his smile and the feel of his arm when she clung to him—hard and steady; the way he always told her truth without being cruel. She misses her friend.

With the realization fresh on her mind, she writes him a letter telling him she made a mistake, tells him that she misses him. He doesn't respond, but she can't give up. Anxious and desperate like she's never felt before, she calls him. He doesn't pick up.

When she can't sleep at night—not even the Xanax can calm her down—she calls Alice.

"It's late, B. What's up? Can't sleep?" her friend answers when she picks up the phone.

"No. Not at all."

"Take an Ambien."

"I already took a Xanax. I can't. I …" she mumbles, staring at the ceiling.

"What's wrong? What are you worrying about?"

"Edward," she admits, her voice barely a whisper. "I tried calling, but he won't pick up."

"About that … yeah, well. I don't think he's too keen on talking to you."

"Why?" she asks, feeling jilted that her friend knows more about him these days.

"I don't know." Alice sighs. "Disappearing into thin air might have something to do with it," she points out the obvious.

"I screwed up. I really wish I hadn't. I made a mistake."

"What exactly did you do … that night?"

"I slept with him."

"I guess he's less of a player than he seemed."

"I don't think he's one at all," says Bella defensively despite the fact that she used to share Alice's opinion on the matter. "And I made a mistake, okay?"

"What do you mean by that?"

She shifts uncomfortably in her fresh Percale sheets. "I like him. I miss him."

"Did you tell him that?" Alice is fast losing patience. Her friend's troubles seem silly to her. Life's simple for her; you take what you want if you can.

"Yes. I wrote him."

"Are you going to break up with Riley?" Alice asks with a chuckle, unable to hide her pleasure at the thought.

"No!" she exclaimed too fast and for no reason. "I don't know … maybe? It's just … I don't know what to do," she admits with a resigned sigh.

"What do you want to do?" Alice probes, hoping that this would set her straight; once she knows what she wants, she'll know what to do.

"I don't know," Bella replies evasively. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

Before she hangs up, an idea is sparked in Alice's head. "Hey, I'm taking a private yoga class tomorrow. You should come along."

"I'm not very flexible. At All. I don't think so."

"Pretty please? I don't want to make a fool of myself. I haven't taken a class in forever. This way it will be the two of us looking stiff."

"I'm sure you'll be fine, Alice." Bella is keenly aware that her friend is lying.

"Come on. We can have dinner afterwards," Alice begs. Bella is used to Alice dragging her along to events, classes and trips; she knows Alice hates being alone sometime and so she obliges.

"Fine."

The next day, dressed in a tank top and old jogging pants, Bella finds herself sitting on a rubber mat in Alice's loft, staring at a beautiful blonde who instructs her in strict prose to give in, give up and surrender.

"This is not happiness. Let go," she instructs Bella while she adjusts her downward facing dog. "I know you always think, if I just had a different job, I would be happier; if I just had a different boyfriend, everything would be perfect. But it never works. _More_ never, ever makes you happier.

"So how do you find happiness?" the limber blonde asks them as their limbs start to shake in warrior-three. "You need to give, and not just when you're getting something back. Stop mistaking money, sex, looks, food, status, whatever, for love. Wake up!"

By the end of the hour, Bella is deeply in thought. She admires and envies the woman in front of her who seems so at ease with herself and the world.

"So what made you book her for a private class?" she asks Alice over vegan dumplings and green tea.

"I met Tanya through a client. She's all the rave currently. Lots of famous clients and stuff. She's good, right?"

"Yeah. I like her, and I don't even like yoga."

"Mmm," Alice hums. "She amazing and gorgeous. It's hard to believe that even she has man trouble."

"Really? Well, then you know there's no hope for me."

"I don't know about that. I introduced her to Edward, and he kind of ditched her, so I think you have one leg up on her in that department."

"You did what? Why? I don't understand …" Bella shakes her head, then narrows her eyes in anger and outrage. "Wait! Did you run into him or did you seek him out on purpose?"

"Relax. Jasper invited him to a party I was hosting last week. You already said that you weren't going to come, so..."

"Oh," is Bella's only reply, feeling betrayed by her best friend's admission.

"Honestly, I didn't think you'd care. I mean, it's not like you two were dating or anything. Plus, he told me that you didn't part on good terms at your birthday party." Alice's last words only serve to anger her more. Not only did she get to hang out with him, she also talked to him about her.

"It's fine," she lies, and they soon part ways.

~o0o~

When Riley pops the question the next day, handing her his grandmother's ring, she lies again, "I don't know." She then adds, "Give me some time."

Time is not what she needs. She knows what she wants and has known it for some time. She wants to stop doing what she's told. She wants to quit her job, tell Riley to shove it, her mother to shut up and her father to leave her alone. And she wants Edward.

But she becomes aware right then that doing what you want can be much harder than doing what you're told or what you think you have to do.

* * *

**Thank you for reading. **


	29. Chapter 29

**ginginlee beta'ed this – twice! She's sweet and wise.**

* * *

**Falling**

**Part III**

When she walks into Riley's apartment to find him in bed with a beautiful blonde, she shies away in pain at first. But the burning sensation she feels in her heart, as she stares at endless, smooth legs, perfect breasts and him between her thighs, is quickly cooled by a wave of relief. It will be easy to end it now when the truth is so visibly on display, and no one will blame her. Ending it is no longer just what she wants to do; it's what she _has_ to do to do to be able to walk away with her head held high.

The tides of fate have turned for her—or so she thinks. What has happened has nothing to do with fate in fact; Edward, always a man of action, has intervened. And the plan he has hatched—the arranged seduction of the other man by a hired hand—has run its slick course without disruption.

Bella, never quite as docile as Riley pegged her to be, swiftly tells him the next morning, while his coffee is still steaming hot, to keep his ring and to never call her again. Unprepared for her resolve, he fails to plead his case.

Stepping out of Riley's apartment after the quick and painless break up, she feels replenished and alive. A fresh breeze of fall sweeps the first dry leaves across the Upper East Side Street, as she walks away. A change of season is well under way. She has gotten what she's wanted without any guilt and now hopes that the one she wants will still want her.

Yes, she has missed her friend and when she first called him, it was all she was seeking—his company and conversations and maybe his compliments. But now her pride is wounded more than she lets on. The unsettling suspicion that what she has witnessed that night is nothing new, has happened before, doesn't leave her.

It's a particular scary discovery for her, the child of a philandering father. Since she caught Charles Swan at the tender age of ten in a suggestive embrace with her last nanny, a woman she loved and adored, she has cast the blame for his unfaithfulness squarely on her mother, a woman she has always viewed as cold and uncaring. Indeed, the memories of her early childhood are divided into periods based on the caretakers who raised her: Jill, a stout gal, who dressed her in plaid and green wellies; then Annika, a slender blonde, who baked gooey cinnamon rolls and took her apple picking; and finally Claudine, the petite brunette, who taught her how to apply makeup before she had breasts. Her mother she only remembers as the beauty dressed in tasteful designs from a French collection standing a distance away. Even to outsiders, Mrs. Swan lacked a motherly touch; she hired help before the birth of her only daughter and was seldom seen holding her. Her father, on the other hand, showered his daughter with affection—at least when he was around.

It stuns her, scares her to think, that despite all her efforts to be nothing like the woman who gave birth to her, she is in fact just like her and, hence, squarely to blame for Riley's adventures.

So she seeks Edward out that night after her break-up looking for more than just conversation. Like any female who has just found her man in the clutches of another beautiful woman, she wants to feel desired, needs validation that she's still got what it takes to attract attention.

And his touch, his caresses, his kisses easily soothe away the worry. And though some self doubts still plague her, she starts feeling happy and sated for the first time. While in his arms, it's easy to pretend the outside world does not exist, that her problems are not really problems, but merely minor inconveniences, and so she stays.

As time goes by, with her still in his arms, she falls in love. It's all consuming and glorious and so brand-new. She walks through her days in a daze; he's all she cares about. Her job's just annoying, her friends' perfectly nice and her life quite charmed. Even her mother is no longer much of a drag.

It takes a while for reality to burst her bubble, for her daze to dissolve. The first holes are punctured at work when she watches her father, a man she has held in high esteem, who has taught her to be polite and smart in her choices (though he left her with little to make on her own), act rudely and condescending toward his subordinates.

"I will need this work to be completed now. Not in twenty minutes and most certainly not on Monday. I don't give a shit if your mother died or you're to be a best man at your buddy's wedding. I expect you to stay here and finish this. Now. Are we clear?" he demands on a Friday night around ten in the evening. His voice has the same sophisticated, exact tone it always has, but she notices an undertone that's new to her—domineering and superior.

Since she worked on the project he's complaining about, she's all too aware of the unreasonableness of his request. The perfect veneer she usually sees when she looks at him is scratched. It doesn't help that she hates her job and more and more views it as a trap of sorts; one she has been lured into by circumstance and her father's insistence, not one she has freely wandered into. She starts wondering whether her father really is the man she thought him to be. Or if his long speeches about what's just and good, their discussions about how the world ought to be, were just another scheme?

She pushes any thoughts about her father and her crumbling view of her family away for a while, as it's quite easy for someone who's newly in love.

While Edward's not perfect—too handsome, too arrogant and sometimes moody—she feels good about herself when he's around. He never makes demands of her, never expects anything in return. He's not a daydreamer, doesn't care to fool her with wisdom and ideals he cares little about. She doesn't have to smile for him, attend dinners or play dress up. She can just be. He is who he has always been. He's real.

When they face the outside world together, feelings of inadequacy and doubts surface. At dinner at her parents' house, she can't help but notice Bree's lingering gaze when Edward passes her. The expression on her face is something she's sworn she has witnessed before; a mixture of lust and desire in the eyes of the beholders as they feast on him. She tries to ignore it on any other occasion, but that day she can't. She hates it when he greets her parents' housekeeper politely and smiles at her, but more so she hates the feeling of anger it ignites in her.

Bree's gaze though isn't one of admiration of his good looks or because she's coveting something that isn't hers, but rather she's envious of what the couple shares.

"They seem to have it all," she tells her friend later on the phone. "They are so in love. It's beautiful to watch. The way his eyes never leave her. Both so young."

"You could have that if you just get away from him," her friend reminds her like she has a million times before.

"I can't. Despite all his faults, I love him," Bree defends herself again.

"He'll never leave her," she accuses.

"I know. I'm fine with it, so long as I can have some time."

That night, the night Isabella endures her mother's critiques and her father's questions in Edward's presence, he tells her he loves her and her anger melts.

"Why me?" she asks him a couple of nights later alone with him in bed. They've just returned from dinner where a particularly attractive waitress was fawning over him, even daring to slip him her number when he paid the check.

"Because I made the decision some time ago that you were worth the risk."

"Excuse me?"

"I love you. You make me do things I thought only happened in bad romantic comedies, and I damn you for that. It's true. I've no trouble admitted that," he tells her without hesitation. "But it's not the only thing that matters, is it? In the long run, it might be inconsequential what I feel right now. The way I see it, disappointment, disasters and the boringly mundane that come with living are bound to put a damper on that high. And the concept of the soul or a soul mate has never made sense to me."

"I see," she says, slightly amused.

"Here's what's important and why it will always be you; you're good, a much better person than me, and beautiful with perfect tits," he continued with a wink. "Most importantly, you make me think of someone other than myself. I'd go so far as to say that I'd do anything for you even if it kills me in the process, because without you I'd be a self-important fool again. It's a risk, you see?"

"No, I don't think I quite see the precariousness of the situation," she says jokingly, placing a kiss on his jaw.

"Well, let me break it down for you. I'd be screwed without you, and I've come to realize as much. I wouldn't have known the difference just a couple of months ago and the longer we continue this, the harder it will be to recover. You have to see the risk in that."

"There's no risk involved." She smiles and covers his mouth with hers quickly. "I'd never leave you," she promises him.

~o0o~

"You know he's not really who you think he is," Alice informs her in a bitter tone the night she's discovered she's unlucky in love; Jasper, her boyfriend of five months, has just ended their affair.

"And what do you think you know about Edward that I can't see?" Isabelle requests, humoring her best friend, who rolls her eyes condescendingly and lights a cigarette instead of responding.

"Alice, there's no need to treat me like I'm completely naive. Trust me, I'm not," she calls her out, as she detects the resentment. Alice squirms. She had no intention of telling Bella what she knows about Edward's involvement in Riley's demise, but right then, her mind clouded with tequila and her heart broken yet again, she feels the need for revenge, feels the need to spread the hurt.

"You know he set Riley up?" Alice's brows rise challengingly. Bella's smile tightens but doesn't disappear. "He's really quite the schemer. He somehow figured out what Riley's weakness was, hired a prostitute, a common hooker, and set him up. I helped him, too. Invited you for dinner that night, so that you wouldn't go with Riley to the bar. You gotta admit, it's quite cold." She pauses and then adds, "Not that I really cared for Riley, and I'm glad you found out."

To Alice's surprise, her friend doesn't question the veracity of her claims, but simply states with a chuckle, "Well, that's hardly a surprise, is it? It kind of fits, don't you think? It sounds like something he would do." Isabella shakes her head and laughs. "Definitely not out of character."

"The fact that he completely manipulated the situation doesn't that give you cause of pause?"

"Don't be petty, Alice. When he told you about his plan, you were more than happy to help," she points out and departs shortly after. Alice has accomplished the opposite of what she set out to do; instead of finding a companion to commiserate with, she has disgruntled her best friend.

In the cab ride to Edward's place, Bella ponders the truthfulness of her response. Yes, the fact that he'd set his opponent up this way doesn't surprise her in the slightest. What does surprise her is that she isn't in the least bit bothered by this revelation, but rather slightly amused.

~o0o~

Over Thanksgiving, when she's confronted with her father's latest affair—with Bree, who's hardly older than her and stares at Edward all the time—and receives a request from him to attend a campaign dinner with Riley, she makes a new discovery: she can say "no" and walk away.

"Remember what I told you about lubricating the right wheels, for a lack of a better term, remaining polite?" her father lectures her in a stern voice after she has told him with a shrug of her shoulders that she doesn't want to attend. She furrows her brows listening to her father. The word "lubricating" immediately bothers her. Couldn't he have just said "greasing"? Edward would have said greasing, she thinks, envisioning dirty brown motor oil. "I'd really prefer that you go. I can't that day, but someone should go. You're mother doesn't care for politics."

"I'd prefer you didn't sleep with an employee, but yet I can hardly stop you," she calmly responds. "I'm not going." She turns and flees the room before he can reply with no small amount of satisfaction.

The next morning, they leave early. End of discussion. A month later, she quits her job, no longer feeling beholden to the trap so carefully spun for her.

"I know you think you have it all figured out now, but exactly how do you think you'll be paying for the maintenance and all the other stuff you consume? No job that you get will pay enough to even cover _your _basics," he harangues her yet again on her last day of work.

"I have enough in my savings account. I didn't spend a dime of what I got paid during the last couple of months. I don't pay rent and mom buys me more clothes than I'll ever wear. I'll work for free for the campaign until I figure out what to do," she retorts with a smile.

A skeptical "We'll see" are his parting words for her.

She could have added that Edward has been suggesting she should move in with him, which would allow her to sell the apartment her father bought for her, giving her complete financial independence. But she doesn't like mentioning Edward to her father, avoids it at all cost, afraid that he'll get tainted by the power her father exudes by merely being in his presence, and so she keeps quiet.

When her mother invites her for lunch the next day, she's tempted to politely decline, but then she says something that makes her change her mind, "We really need to celebrate your departure from your father's firm."

A smile spreads across her lips as she answers, "Okay. Fine."

"Wonderful. Twelve o'clock at Cipriani's," her mother chirps and hangs up.

An hour later, she sits with her mother in the restaurant drinking Bellinis.

"I'm so glad you quit, darling. I don't know how you could stand working for him so long. You must be a saint," her mother confesses, and Isabella can't help the knowing smile that spreads across her face. "I didn't like the idea when he suggested it, and I told him as much. He got terribly offended. I told him that I'd pay your rent or buy you an apartment myself."

"Why didn't you tell me that?" Last summer she wished there was a way out of her conundrum, a way of not working for her father.

Her mother narrows her eyes in response to her daughter's question and then shrugs one shoulder. "We had a fight about it, which rarely happens these days. Usually, I prefer to ignore him and let him be. But this … it was different. He was furious when I told him that I didn't want you working for him. In the end, I caved to his demands but only because some tiny part of me thought it would be an eye-opening experience for you. I didn't deliberately seek to destroy the view you had of your father, and I apologize if I did just that. I just thought it was time to clear up some misconceptions."

Isabella nods, acquiescing silently. While she may never grow to love the woman across from her as a mother, she has gained a new perspective and some respect.

"So how are things with Edward?"

Her mood shifts swiftly at the mention of his name, and she shoots her mother an icy glare.

"He's fine," she answers in a clipped tone.

"Good," her mother tells her with a chuckle.

She sighs and then asks, "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Calm down, Bella. I like him. A lot. So much better than the last one. He's charming, smart and so smitten with you. Who knows? You may have better luck than me in finding the right one after all." She picks up her glass and inspects the flushed cheeks of her daughter with motherly pride her daughter fails to see.

"I'm sorry," Bella murmurs, then dabs her mouth with a napkin and looks away. "I'm happy."

"That's wonderful. If he proposes, would you say yes?" She knows her daughter is too private a person to disclose her answer just yet, so she immediately adds, "Forget I asked. I was just curious."

Isabella ponders her mother's question for some time and when he asks without a ring and not on his knees, she knows the answer. "Yes," she tells him without hesitation though she knows she's too young, and it's too soon.

When he gives her the ring a day later, she feels disappointed. It's ostentatious, suspiciously so. Not what she has hoped for, but rather something her mother would want to see on her ring finger.

She wants to be mad at Edward for not picking the ring himself and consulting her mother instead, but can't quite bring herself to be. Her mother probably offered help, and he didn't want to be rude. Still, part of her is annoyed. He should know her and know that _this_ is not her style. Briefly, she considers confronting him, but then she chucks it aside as a silly idea. It's only a ring, after all. And she's fine, happy and likes what she sees in the mirror.

~o0o~

In the spring months following their engagement, while she feels at ease with herself, she starts noticing a restlessness about Edward that makes her worry. She wants to help him, but he won't share whatever is bothering him.

"Nothing," he assures her when she asks him what's going on. "I love you."

He's always working, always on the run. On a lazy day toward the middle of March-one she spends feeling lonely in her apartment reading a book-someone unexpectedly knocks on her door.

A man dressed in an ill-fitting grey suit, carrying a police badge, introduces himself to her.

"How can I help you detective? What's this about?" She's nervous as she stares at the man and his partner sitting down on her couch.

"I'm sorry to trouble you, but we are investigating the death of Bree Tanner. Your parents-"

"My parents' housekeeper died?" she asked half in shock and disbelief. She has known about Bree's departure from her parents' house about a month ago. Her mother mentioned that she quit, and Isabella assumed it was because the affair with her father had ended.

"Yes. We are just trying to rule out any foul play. At first glance, it looks like suicide. Pills," he adds with a trained, solemn look.

"I see," she mumbles, sitting down, feeling a little confused about why they choose to question her. "I'm not sure how I can be of help, but..."

"Well, we checked and it looks like your father's company owns the apartment she was staying at. Where she was found actually. We've been trying get in contact with your mother about the exact period of employment of Ms. Tanner, but unfortunately we have not been able to. So we were wondering whether you might be able to help us with some of our questions. Do you know why she was still staying in that apartment? We know she'd stopped working for your family.."

Hesitantly, she answers all their questions her mother has obviously refused to discuss. And so she learns during the course of the next twenty minutes that her father bought Bree an apartment and the family doctor prescribed her a lot of drugs, possibly due to a recent hospital stay. Since her mother checked her into the emergency room, they were also wondering whether she might know something about Bree's health.

When the two men leave, she can't help but wonder how many apartments have been bought for her father's former mistresses, and what has become of them since their dismissal. Is Claudine still living in the city? She feels sticky and dirty, besmirched by her father's affairs, and her own admiration of a man so sick in his habits.

When she informs her father about the visit by the cops, he only says, "I'll call my lawyer. Who do they think they are questioning you!"

His reaction tells her that she shouldn't have bothered. Nothing he could say or do would make her feel differently. She despises him now. "Dad, they are the police. I'm sure they can question whomever they want. There's no need to call anyone."

"We'll see about that. Don't worry yourself about it." He gets up from his chair behind his desk, signaling that he's all out of time. "I have another meeting scheduled," he explains.

"Okay," she starts in anger, "you don't want to talk about it. I get it. Don't worry. I won't bother you again." His expression softens and he halts next to the chair she is rising from.

"I'm sorry, honey. She was depressed. I'm sure Edward can confirm that."

"Why? What does he have to do with it?" she snaps just as he has suspected.

"From what I know, though you should ask him about it, he was the one who called the ambulance when she fell ill. I'm sure he's aware that she had some issues." He pauses, watching the confused expression on his daughter's face with satisfaction. His distraction has worked. "He didn't tell you about it, did he?"

"Yes. He did." She gives him a saccharine smile. "I've to go, so don't let me keep you," she adds and flees his office.

Feeling betrayed and anxious upon returning to her place, she plans on confronting Edward that night. Why was he at her parents' house? Had the two met when she wasn't around? Was her mother present as well? Did Edward share a friendship with Bree? Insecurity spreads through her as quickly as a wildfire in a field of dry bushes. She's itching for a fight and when Edward calls to tell her that he'll be working late and then leave to London the next day, he hears resentment vibrating in her voice.

In tune with her mood, he detects immediately he's in trouble; for what, he doesn't know, though he's fast to acknowledge that he gives her ample reasons. "I'm sorry, babe," he tries to appease. "I'll try to catch an early flight back from London, okay?"

"Sure," she says coolly. "I'll see you then."

"Wait. Please don't be mad." When she doesn't respond, he tries to lighten the mood. "I'm sure you've better things to do anyway. I promise, I'll be home soon. I miss you."

"Mmh." She wants to get off the phone before she spills her guts. This is not a talk she wants to have over the phone. Seeing his face while she asks him about Bree is important she feels.

"I love you," he tells her. He hates to disappoint her and lately it feels like it's all he does.

"... you too," she mutters.

"What's wrong?" he asks her.

"Nothing. I have to go. I'll talk to you when you come back, okay?"

"Fine. Have fun, okay? I miss you," he tells her again, and she hangs up.

The second the call ends, he wants to grab his coat and run out to the office. He can't stand the distance between them. His mind's not focusing; he can barely look at the numbers on the screen. His heart feels so heavy that he's almost heading out the door …

But then his secretary walks in and one of the senior directors calls him next, loading more work on him. He stays tied up there until the limo arrives and drives him to JFK the next morning.

Another knock on her front door disturbs Isabella's agitated mind shortly after Edward's call, and she stomps to the door in anger. She'd have to have a word with the doorman about letting anyone pass his desk without so much of a call to her. Her anger doesn't dissipate when she sees her mother standing in her door.

"Good afternoon, darling," she trills and walks past her with a dress bag in hand.

"The cops were here."

Her mother stops in her tracks and turns to her. "I'm sorry. If I had known they'd come knocking at your door next, I would have returned their calls. I'm sorry about Bree. I didn't know she was sick. And I'm sorry you had to find out this way."

"You checked her into the hospital. How could you not know?" Isabella screams, her voice reaching a high pitch it seldom does and tears start streaming down her face.

"She was hemorrhaging after an abortion. I had no idea she was on antidepressants. Otherwise I would have insisted that your father check her into a proper facility. Obviously, she needed help. Believe me, I would have done anything to avoid this," she calmly states, her eyes weary. "I feel terrible that you were dragged into this."

"Wait. What? An abortion..." She shakes her head. "Why didn't you let her stay at the house after?" She tries to find fault with someone.

"I wouldn't have objected. It was her decision to leave. You have to forgive me. I don't usually get involved in your father's affairs."

She knows her mother is telling the truth. "What about Edward?" she asks when she has calmed down.

"What about him?" Her mother looks at her with raised brows.

"Why was he the one calling the ambulance?"

Her mother blanches, then sighs. "He came over to our house. I was going to take him shopping for your ring. I was running late, and Bree let him in. She collapsed while he was there. He called 911. I'm sorry. I tried to keep him out of this. Who told you he was there?"

"Dad did," she tell her.

"I guess Bree must have told him. I checked her in and never mentioned his presence to Charles."

"Why?"

"You know your father. He'd find a way to use it against him, which seems ridiculous because he did the right thing. But then again, he sort of did." A bitter smile spreads on the mouth of the elder Mrs. Swan. "You were sure to pick a fight with him over it, weren't you?"

Bella nods ruefully.

When Edward returns two days later, purple blue patches mar the skin under his eyes, and the suit he's wearing is crumpled and stained. He orders his driver to go straight to Isabella's apartment. A shower and sleep can wait. He needs her more than anything else. His heart starts beating faster when he sees her standing in the door with a smile on her face. Hugging her tightly to his chest, he inhales deeply and hopes he's forgiven for his sins.

The state he's in is scaring her, and she decides not to ask about Bree. It can wait and he's burdened enough already. Something is slowly killing him.

~o0o~

The coloring under his eyes doesn't change for weeks. "I'm late" and "I have to run" she hears nearly every day. Forgiving him is easy when he presses sweet kisses all over her, and she decides not to prod. She worries about him and tries to be easy on him, tries not to add to his stress. Morning, noon and night his phone is ringing, and so she keeps quiet.

One sunny summer morning, he goes outside for a run and leaves the dreaded device behind. When it keeps ringing for more than 30 minutes, Isabella picks it up, about to give whoever is calling to bother him, a piece of her mind. She changes her mind as the caller starts talking.

An intercepted phone call and a quick search through his e-mail accounts later, she finds out Edward's plans about leaving the firm and his new business.

Instead of asking him questions, she decides to wait. The plans he has about leaving the world of finance altogether appeal to her very much, but his reluctance to share them with her irk her. When the firm finally collapses, and she knows he's out of a job, she makes quick preparations to free him of some obligations. Much to her dismay, her plan goes awry when she rushes across a busy intersection on her way home to surprise him. Any savings are quickly wiped away when she demolishes the expensive, sleek car.

Tired and exhausted she doesn't return to his place until late at night where she finds him nearly unconscious, drunk like a skunk on the kitchen floor. She drags him to bed and cleans up his mess.

The next morning, she leaves him asleep while she gets up to clean the kitchen floor and to make breakfast. As she empties the bucket of dirty water into the toilet, she half regrets cancelling the cleaning service for the apartment.

The things you do for love, she mumbles to herself and goes to fry some eggs.

They clear the air that morning; he confesses all his sins, and she lets her temper flare for just a bit. She'd never dare break his heart by leaving him.

Fairy tales end with happily ever after when the evil stepmother dies or the wicked witch is killed for a reason. Because after that life happens—hurdles, breakdowns and collisions included—and it's not always happy. Soon or later, you're bound to encounter the feeling, the urge, to walk away. Staying and continuing is often much harder. Between the ups and downs and the final crash, Isabella Marie Swan has come to the conclusion that it's not the short elation, the profession of true love, that counts, but what comes afterward, the sacrifices made along the way when battles are lost and misfortune strikes, that truly matters, that are the expression of true love.

* * *

**Thank you for reading and special thanks to those who reviewed and/or recommended this tale. **


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